


Four

by Wightraven



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crime Fighting, Drug Dealing, Family, Family Drama, Freegan, Freeganism, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Multi, New York, New York City, Ninja, Other, Pizza, References to Drugs, TMNT, Technology, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wightraven/pseuds/Wightraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Turtles return from their first and last confrontation with The Shredder. Though his life is over, theirs continue. A re-imagining of the series that helped shape my childhood with elements from many different versions of the Turtles. </p><p>No Original Characters, rated Mature for language, violence, and general adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The damp, filthy tunnels of the New York City sewers were a poorly-lit maze of slime and overpowering odor. For most they were a disgusting yet necessary part of daily life. Only the grates, manholes, and occasional foul stench would even remind you of their presence, unless something had gone catastrophically wrong and required maintenance. Indeed, to most, the sewers were a part of the city best forgotten. But to the four brothers padding carefully through the drains toward the undercity below… it was home. A home they had longed to return to for quite some time.

Today had not been an easy day. Anyone else in their metaphorical shoes might say that it rarely ever was, but for the brothers it was all they had ever known. Even their childhood, barely half a dozen years behind them, was punctuated by disciplined study of the martial arts. When they weren’t playing scavenged video games or reading discarded comic books, they were learning how to fend off multiple attackers and kill a person without being detected. Only a few months ago had they begun field-testing these skills; taking to the streets above to save the citizens of their fair city from more predatory forces. One such force had fallen tonight; the most concentrated and numerous organization they had been faced with, a clan of malicious ninja known as The Foot. Their leader, The Shredder, had tried to break them psychologically as well as physically… but in the end he failed. The Shredder paid for his ambition with his life, and the brothers returned home together.

Somewhere among the sewers that most left forgotten were various sanitary utility tunnels for city workers, secret passages built by the criminal element in ages past, and even a subway system that was never quite completed and left abandoned when funding ran dry. It was within an immense station for the aborted subway that the four siblings finally came to rest. Donatello was the first through the double-doors; he was the only one who could reliably disengage the electronic locks while utterly exhausted without setting off any alarms. It only made sense; he was the one who installed them in the first place. Raphael followed, a storm of emotion raging in the golden eyes behind his crimson bandana and a tense set to his shoulders as he stalked past his brother and deeper into their abode. Behind him was Michelangelo, stifling a yawn with one hand and making a lazy bid in the opposite direction for the icebox, and finally Leonardo.

Ordinarily, Leonardo would’ve been in front; it was his job to guide his brothers both in and out of combat and this often included taking point while on the move, but tonight he lagged behind. His ego assured him that he was just guarding their flanks; it was easy enough for even a weary ninja to see what was ahead, but protecting the rear required a bit more awareness… but there was something else buried deep beneath the self-assured denial that was causing him to lag. Even after they were safely through the worst part of the narrow sewers and into the more open subway tunnels where they could stop walking single-file, Leonardo kept about six paces behind his brothers cradling a twisted bit of metal in his hands.

It was a simple piece of armor. A bracer, to be specific. Leather straps fixed to polished steel that had failed to hold their former owner’s weight and snapped from the strain. The sharpened blades and spikes that were affixed to the item still bore stains of red that had belonged to Leonardo and his brothers, as well as powder burns and char marks from the explosives that suddenly dominated their last battle. This he laid on the concrete floor before a small chair. Between the sheer fatigue and the thoughts that clouded his mind, he barely remembered kneeling down, much less the long walk home.

“You have returned.” His teacher, his father, the elderly Splinter had drawn the long pipe from his lips and spoke. He stated the obvious, more as a prompt for his student, his son to speak. 

“Yes. We… we were successful. Both in retrieving Raphael safely and defeating The Shredder.” 

“It is good that your brother has returned to us unharmed, and that an ancient foe has been defeated. But I yet sense trouble in you, Leonardo. What thoughts weigh so heavy upon your brow, that you cannot meet my eyes?”

Leonardo raised his head quickly, catching the shining pupils of his master’s gaze. There was an abundance of patience there, as one obviously needed when raising four boys in such a disciplined manner. There was also understanding, curiosity, and a breath of genuine concern that struck him in such a way that his mouth opened and words began to pour forth like water from a broken levee. Leonardo complained of Raphael’s carelessness. His arrogance. He repeated every move of each battle, from small skirmishes with fledgling Foot soldiers to the grueling conflict with The Shredder high above the city. He lauded his brothers for their teamwork and individual accomplishments, chastised them for their shortcomings, and criticized himself most of all for failing to lead them as effectively as he would have liked. Leonardo unleashed the miasma of thoughts he had almost been choking on, and Splinter listened until his son was as exhausted in mind as he was in body.

“Hm.” With a sage nod, he removed his pipe once again from his lips. “I will give what you have said much consideration. I believe there is an opportunity here… for us all to learn, and grow. But for now, you have had a taxing experience. Rest, and we will talk more when you awaken.”

“Hai, Sensei.”

Leonardo stood, bowing in respect before passing back through the curtain that gave Splinter’s room some privacy from his sons, and headed toward his own quarters. The journey was cut short, however, as Raphael was leaning in the arched doorway that led into the common area. He wasn’t physically blocking his brother’s path, but his presence was so palpable that it was very clear one way or another there was about to be a confrontation. Leonardo sighed.

“What do you want, Raph.”

“What do I want? _What do I want!?_ What I want, _Leo_ , is to be treated like an equal part of this team, instead of like some kinda mad dog you gotta keep on a close leash!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t act like that I wouldn’t have to.” It seemed an easy enough answer to Leonardo’s tired mind, which had forgotten that discretion was often the better part of valor.

“Oh! OH! Just because I don’t follow every single one of your BRILLIANT plans, suddenly I’m crazy! Is that what you’re tryin’ to say? That I’m some kinda nutso psychopath that can’t be trusted? That every time I BREATHE without a direct order, you gotta run an’ tattle to Splinter about it?”

“Master Splinter asked me to report on everything that happens when we go out. I’m not going to tip-toe around _your_ mistakes any more than I would Donnie’s or Mikey’s.”

“Yeah? An’ what about your own? You ain’t exactly flawless, _Leo_.”

Leonardo was too tired to deal with this right now; his mind still wasn’t quite clear, and his patience for Raphael’s headstrong attitude was wearing thin long before he emerged from Splinter’s chambers. The danger he and his siblings had been facing… the looming threat of the Foot for the last few weeks… and just hours ago when he had caught The Shredder’s gauntlet, held him dangling stories above the alleyway, pleading with him to understand just as he felt the bindings snap… … He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, fighting past his emotions to discover his place of inner calm; imagining himself in the lotus position, up near one of the drainage pipes during a big storm. The smell of sewage was overwhelmed by fresh downpour, and the white noise of thunder, rain, and the rushing waterfalls created by the drainage systems blocked out all distractions and allowed him to find calmness. He opened his eyes and Raphael was still sneering at him from the shadows of the archway, waiting for a response. 

“If you wanna know what I said to Master Splinter, you can go in there and ask him yourself. I’m too tired to deal with this right now.”

Leonardo shook his head, waved his brother off, and continued on the path to his room. Raphael pushed quickly off the archway to stop him, but instead relaxed. He still wasn’t happy with their ‘fearless leader’… but he, too, was tired. Probably more tired than the rest of them, given that he had been fighting for much longer than they had. He would have plenty of time to take his brother down a few pegs in the morning, after breakfast. Raphael growled softly, making it clear to anyone still listening that this disagreement wasn’t over, then turned on a dime and made for his own bed.

* * *

Just beyond the archway, in the common room, the two remaining brothers were seated around the TV trying to tune out yet another argument. Michelangelo was laid out across the whole of the couch, absently chewing on the crusts of a leftover pizza. Donatello had taken the high-backed chair perpendicular to the set. It wasn’t the best vantage point for actually watching TV, but he could listen without being completely distracted from tinkering with whatever pet project he had taken up. At the moment, it was repairing the coffee-maker. That hyper-focused zone he reached when working with his hands on an intricate project was his place of calm, just as much as watching cartoon reruns and snacking was Mikey’s. They all needed a little respite after the day’s ordeals, but Raphael’s anger was proving too loud to just tune out. 

Michelangelo began increasing the volume on the TV, rapidly approaching a zenith of Memorex-like proportions. Donatello had seen him do it before; it was equal parts passive-aggression and avoidance and pretty much only ever occurred when Raphael started laying into Leo… or if an episode of Monday Night RAW was particularly exciting.

“Cut it out, Mikey,” he suggested more than reprimanded, “I can barely hear myself think over here.” His brother grunted in protest, but returned the volume to where it was before.

“Sorry. I just get so tired of them fighting all the time... !”

“Yeah, me too. But every time you do that it just pisses Raph off even more.”

Michelangelo giggled. “Yeah, I know,” then added more somberly, “at least it’s me he’s mad at, then, and not Leo. What’s his deal, anyway? Why’s he always gotta get so… … _Raph_ about everything?”

“Why’re you askin’ me? He’s your brother, too.”

“Because you’re the smart one, dude. You can’t tell me you haven’t tried to figure out why he goes all menstrual all the time.”

“I think you mean ‘mental’, Mikey.”

“No, I said what I meant.” Donatello tried not to snicker at his brother’s off-color joke. While he wasn’t as sharp as the other three, when it came to cracking wise Michelangelo was far more clever than the rest of them combined. “I just don’t get why he’s so angry all the time. It’s not like he wants to be the leader… hell, he runs off on his own too much to do that. An’ Leo almost never gives us bad direction. He’s good at what he does! So why’s he get so rattled?”

“Puberty.”

“Gesundheit.”

“No, _puberty_. Sexual maturity. Y’know.”

Michelangelo’s face screwed up, trying to figure out exactly what his brother was getting at. “Wait, so… Raph is mad because… he’s got a girlfriend?”

Donatello rolled his eyes. “No, you dipstick. When humans start the process that leads to sexual maturity all these chemicals get released in their brains and make ‘em act crazy for a while. They make bad decisions and rebel against their parents and stuff. Raph’s just going through that, I figure. Or something like it.”

“Oh. But… like… we’re _not_ humans. We’re turtles.”

“Not exactly. We’re… meta-humans. Like, half-human, half-turtle. Turtles reach sexual maturity based on size, not age, and we haven’t grown any in a few years. So it stands to reason that we go through something more like human puberty.”

“Yeah, but… like… _we_ don’t act like that. Neither does Leo.”

Donatello shrugged. “It affects everyone differently. It has to do with their brain chemistry. Raph might just be more… pre-disposed to defy authority. Or… maybe he’s just got a chemical imbalance or something. I dunno. That’s just what I assume his deal is.”

‘Hope’ was probably a more accurate word than ‘assume’, since the follies of youth often pass as one matures and dealing with Raphael being unruly and unstable long into their adult lives was a taxing proposition not even Donatello really wanted to think about. The fight had died down and it seemed like both participants had retreated to their rooms. Leonardo no doubt to meditate and clear his mind, and Raphael to seethe and maybe work the heavy canvas bag he kept hanging in there. Michelangelo was once again sucked into his cartoons, and Donatello blissfully returned to the comfort of replacing machine parts and soldering circuits.

“Hey, Donnie?” The episode had concluded, and ending credits rarely ever held Michelangelo’s attention, so his thoughts had returned to their conversation. “Y’ever think that… like, maybe Raph’s just an asshole?”

Donatello barked a laugh. “The thought had crossed my mind once or twice, yeah.” 

He rose from his chair and crossed to their kitchenette, sat the coffee machine down on the counter and plugged it in. The light was working again, which was a good sign. It wasn’t emitting smoke anymore; that was also good. Donatello set the automatic brewer to percolate at 6:00 AM in time for Splinter’s morning cup and hoped for the best. That was the thing about machines; sometimes you just had to let them do their thing and hope it all worked out in the end. A bit like Raph, he noted.

“C’mon, Mikey. Shut the TV off. We should get some sleep.”

“I know, right? I totally dozed off during Spongebob. That, like, _never_ happens.”

Michelangelo hopped over the back of the couch, stretched, yawned, and padded off to find his bed. Donatello shook his head and laughed, double-checked the coffee pot and the security system, then followed suit. The last of the four brothers caught the light on his way out of the common room, and before long the subway station was quiet once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning comes with breakfast and sibling rivalry... and something unexpected.

Morning for the four brothers came with sore muscles and hot breakfast. The latter was attributed to Splinter, fuelled by the fresh pot of coffee that automatically brewed right on time as he woke from his slumber. By the time they all collected in the main room of their subterranean home, there was a veritable buffet of traditional Japanese breakfast. Steamed rice, miso soup, dried seaweed, fluffy eggs, and bright red European radishes. He would’ve preferred Daikon, but one can’t be picky when food is so difficult to come by. Neither the turtles nor Splinter himself could exactly stroll into a convenience store and just buy what they needed. In fact, most of the time they had no choice but to subsist on food discarded from the nearby stores, restaurants, and (of course) pizzerias. 

“ _Maaaaaaaaaan_. First we gotta be outta pizza, now Splinter’s taunting us with the amazing smell of his awesome breakfast sushi,” Michelangelo groaned, hands rubbing his plastron to soothe the empty stomach within.

“Not all Japanese food is sushi, Michelangelo,” Splinter sighed, “and it is not for me alone; I have prepared enough for all of you, as well.”

“Oh! Dude! You don’t have to tell _me_ twice! I’m _starving!_ ”

The four brothers assembled around the salvaged picnic bench that served as their dining room table, Raphael making a point to put as much distance between himself and Leonardo as possible. Each dished out their own helpings from the spread and began to tuck in appreciatively. Splinter smiled to watch them enjoy the meal he had so lovingly prepared before commencing to eat, himself.

“Master, this must’ve completely tapped you out. What’re you going to do for food?”

“I am sure we will find enough suitable sustenance in the coming weeks, Leonardo. I am fully capable of surviving myself on the same things you four do. In truth, I have been saving this for a special occasion, and I can think of none more worthy of celebration than your victory against The Shredder.”

“Is it really a victory though? I mean… he died.” Donatello’s words sent Leonardo’s eyes pointedly down at his plate in shame. “Aren’t we supposed to… y’know. Fight with honor an’ stuff? Like you taught us? Doesn’t Shredder’s death kinda push last night into the ‘failure’ column?”

“I dunno, I’d say it’s a wash,” Michelangelo contributed, between bites, “we kicked his butt, so that’s a good thing, but he died an’ _that’s_ not good. No net difference, really.”

Splinter nodded sagely in agreement. “Sometimes you must end the life of an adversary for the greater good. So long as you do so _only_ when given no other recourse, and do not fall into the temptation of wanton violence, you still act with honor.”

Raphael scoffed. “Like you haven’t been trainin’ us for years to take that clown down anyway.”

“Raphael!” Splinter chastised with a single bark of his son’s name.

“What? I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ that ain’t the truth. Why the hell else would you train us to be _ninja assassins_ if it wasn’t to take out the guy who killed _your_ old master? I seen enough Kurosawa movies to know how this works.”

“Splinter wouldn’t do that!” Leonardo slammed his fist down against the table, standing up from his seat in outrage. “You have no right to accuse our Master of being so petty! Just because _you’re_ so obsessed with your own anger doesn’t mean everyone else is!”

“Leonardo!” 

It was the same tone he’d used for Raphael, and one Leonardo was not accustomed to hearing directed at him. His expression immediately softened to one of confusion and hurt. Silence hang heavily in the air, Donatello and Michelangelo exchanging an awkward, worried look before surreptitiously returning to their meals. Leonardo finally sat back down, folding his arms in front of him on the table. Splinter took in a long, deep breath and released it, doing his best to maintain his inner focus and bleed some of that calmness into the rest of the room.

“Raphael is not incorrect.”

“Whoa, wait, _what?_ ” Splinter shot Michelangelo a warning glance for interrupting him, prompting the young turtle to grin sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“I had not been in the sewers for long when I found you four… and it was very soon after that we became what we are. I was still consumed with grief over the loss of my Master. So it was my original intention to educate you in the ways of the ninja that you one day may do what I could not. _However_ … in my time teaching you the patience and inner peace that my own sensei held most dear… I discovered that my selfish desires had indeed consumed my heart. Much as you so often allow them to do, Raphael.”

Raph rolled his eyes and scoffed, but his lack of any rebuttal spoke volumes.

“It is important to remember that we are all susceptible to the passions in our hearts, especially those that are fuelled by anger and sadness. But the reason for our celebration today is not the defeat of my Sensei’s killer; it is the defeat of a threat to the innocents of our city. A man who sought power above all things, and rode the suffering of the meek as his means to that end. The Shredder _refused_ all honor… and he has paid the ultimate price for his hubris. _That_ is cause to be proud.”

"See there, Leo?" Raphael mused, in a way that everyone in the room could tell the following statement was only going to be bitter and insulting, "ya done a good job murderin' The Shredder." 

"Hey! I didn't--" Leonardo's protests were cut short as Raphael rose from his seat, half-palming, half-rubbing his brother's bald head as he made his way toward the door. "Just where exactly do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"Raphael!" Leo's voice didn't quite carry the same authoritarian resonance that Splinter's did. Perhaps that's one of the reasons Raph felt he could get away with being so rebellious. He moved to stand, but a raised hand from Splinter gave him pause.

"Let him go, Leonardo."

"But... Sensei!"

"Raphael has had his own challenges of late. Let him discover how to work these feelings out by himself for now. Sometimes, attempting to force a stone downhill will be more destructive than letting it roll on its own."

"But it's full daylight out there! What if he's seen?"

"Then he will be seen, and we will address that problem when it arrives... _should_ it arrive. I trust Raphael to remember his training, if not his manners."

Leo hesitated, then settled back into his seat, returning to his meal. He had never wanted to ignore his Master's wishes more that very moment... but in the end he knew there had to be wisdom in that advice. Splinter watched him carefully, then joined his remaining three sons in finishing their celebratory breakfast. These weren't exactly the lessons he'd wanted to teach this morning, but they were necessary ones that had to come eventually and now was certainly better than never.

* * *

New York was a big city, but it was also a _full_ city. Staying out of sight at night was hard enough; in broad daylight with the various students, workers, and travelers filling the streets and spilling into the shops, subways, and alleys... it was nearly impossible. Fortunately, Raphael had more than a little practice at avoiding detection. Stick to the shadows of the alleys that smell the most like old urine and sewage; so long as no new homeless people have decided to take up residence, it was basically safe. All the same, he still threw a long coat and knit cap on to stay shrouded.

Raphael wasn't entirely sure why he liked it up above so much. If it was just to escape his brothers and all the noise, there were miles of sewer he could explore. In fact, he had. He'd made maps in his head of most of the passages leading away from their home, left markings in code on the more complicated section so he could tell his way, and always had plans to path out more. But... it was an active past-time. Everything he did was tension and anger. Fighting. Training. Arguing. Running. Up here, he was only able to stand still; to stick to the fringe and avoid activity entirely. It allowed him a precious excuse to be alone with his thoughts. Up here he could smell the food carts on a good breeze, overhear conversations of peoples' mundane life, and feel the sun on his scales. He could just breathe. Just... be.

"All right, big man. Keep your hands where I can see 'em, an' don't try no funny business." 

Something hard enough to make a 'thunk' caught Raph from behind, just below the belt. It wasn't a blow meant to wound... just a firm indicator that something was pressed up against him, and it probably wasn't anything friendly. His mind raced with a dozen ways to take down whatever punk thought he was thug enough to tussle with the hulking weirdo in the alley for his pocket change, but finding a way to do so without causing a scene or revealing too much of himself was more challenging than he anticipated.

"Ah, now. You wearin' a suit of armor under there?" The voice from behind him sounded almost amused, with a thick accent that Raph couldn't quite place. It sounded African, but... at the same time not exactly how he'd heard one before. "Big, hard man wit' a big, hard shell... or maybe you're not a _man_..."

"Back off, freako. You don't want none o' this."

"Big talk for a man smells like sewage. An'... ... something _else_..."

There was pronounced sniffing going on in the general area of Raphael's ear, and he could feel hot breath on his neck and the side of his face. This gave him the opportunity he needed; knowing his opponent's position he could move quickly enough to stun him with a snap backhand blow to the face, then turn around, and disarm him. Three precise movements that should take no more than three seconds for someone with his training. He didn't even bother to center himself with a deep breath when he struck his fist upward and back... but much to his surprise it connected with nothing. Where there was hot breath and a definite physical presence _milliseconds_ ago, now there was only empty air. Dread filled his heart and Raphael spun to face his attacker... but he was gone.

_"Ain't no way he could move that fast!"_ , Raph thought.

Before he could start to speculate on what exactly happened, a thick, sharp click alerted him to a fire escape far above his head. There, among the potted plants and patio furniture, stood the grinning visage of what a casual observer might describe as a lithe werewolf in a black tanktop. His fur was mottled shades of reddish-brown and black, long dreadlocks dripped from his head, adorned with beads and other jewelry, and a bright blue sarong was tied about his waist. He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

"You're much too slow, friend. Like a... turtle, maybe?"

"The hell are you!?" It was almost under his breath. He was still very conscious of the crowded street barely fifteen feet away from him.

"You said it yourself; I'm a 'freako'. Like you, mon." 

He chuckled and tossed something at Raphael's feet. In the instant the turtle allowed his eyes to follow the projectile instead of focusing on his attacker, the wolf took a single step backward and was gone. Raph stared at the open sliding door for a few moments, then knelt to pick up the object. A small, metal pipe. More than likely what was being held to his shell like a mock pistol. He grumbled, annoyed at being hoodwinked, and moreover frustrated that his relaxing day out was cut so short. Raphael found an easy-access manhole and stomped back toward his home. He needed answers. He needed to think. Most importantly, there was a punching bag in his room that he needed to lay into before he snapped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael meets the mysterious wolf once more.

Raphael stood in the same alleyway, at the same time of day, three days later. He'd gotten up before his brothers to stake out a quiet, hidden place in the alley every day since his encounter with the wolf-man, and stayed out as late as possible before sleep started dulling his senses. Master Splinter never seemed to have any questions as they passed each morning, but he knew Leonardo would invent some idiotic reason to stop him, and put every intention on avoiding him until he could learn more. Besides, Leo'd probably just whine that he 'might be seen'. Which was asinine. Their entire battle with The Shredder, their encounters with the local street gangs, the more organized Purple Dragons, and Shredder's forces in the Foot Clan hadn't been seen by anyone at all. It was nighttime, sure, but they caused one hell of a ruckus. If there were any witnesses, it'd be national news. It wasn't even a 'wild rumor' on the internet, according to Donnie. The only thing people thought lived in the New York City sewer system was alligators, and Raphael sure as hell wasn't an alligator. He was ninja. They hadn't been seen before, and he wouldn't be seen today.

Except that he _had_ been seen. What's worse is he'd been _shown up_ by a blindingly fast, dreadlocked wolf. That was different from a regular person seeing him, but he wasn't quite sure if that was for better or worse just yet. Four days now he'd navigated the sewers back to his safe spot, the alley where he could enjoy a little sunshine and the bustle of the city streets. But not since the first day had he seen so much as a tuft of fur, or heard the rapid beat of pawpads on concrete. Doubt crept into his mind halfway through the second day, but he found some perfectly good pizza in a nearby trash bin to fill his stomach, and his quelled hunger and stubbornness met somewhere in his thoughts and decided they'd stick it out for a few days more, at least. Just thinking about that sausage and extra cheese made his stomach gurgle, and _just_ as Raph peered toward the alley's entrance to make sure nobody heard it, a voice came from the opposite direction.

"How ya plan to stay hidden like that, man, makin' all that noise?"

It was too close. Raphael snapped into a fighting stance, sais at the ready, pointed directly toward the same wolf from days before. He smiled and held his hands up in a surrendering posture, waving them to and fro with a laugh.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't want no trouble, right? Ease off with the turtle-no-jutsu!"

He wasn't exactly sure _how_ , but the red-masked turtle was fairly certain the wolf was making fun of him. He lowered his weapons, but only a little.

"The hell do you want, _furball?_ "

"Furball?" he raised an eyebrow, "I thought I was a 'freako'?"

"You're pushin' my patience is what you are."

"Am I? Is that why you been waitin' in this alley since Tuesday?"

Raphael narrowed his eyes. "How the hell did you know that?"

"You just told me," the wolf shrugged. "Seriously, put those things away, man. If I wanted to hurt you I would've done it before."

Try as he might, Raphael couldn't argue with that logic. He slid his sais back into their place on his belt, but kept tense and ready in case this guy decided to change his tune. There was still too much energy waiting in his hands, in his body, just _itching_ to do something, so he folded his arms to try and reign some of that in.

"You got a name, pal?"

The wolf rolled his eyes. "Citizen Jacobs."

"Bullshit."

"S'what I thought. Got no end of shit for it in school. These days me mates call me Dreadmon, on account of…" he pointed to his hair and shrugged very slightly.

"Your 'mates'?"

"Yeah, y'know, mates? Pals? Friends? You don't got those where you come from?"

"I know what 'mates' means, I wanna know who's makin' friends with a six foot wolf?"

'Dreadmon' took a step back and leaned against the opposite wall of the alley, still hidden from any odd passer-by, but much more casual than Raphael was, hunkered in the shadows. It kept Raph's eyes flicking toward the street, sure someone was going to stop to watch the giant wolf and turtle having a casual chat, and _nobody_ was without their cell phone to snap some proof these days.

"Bunch 'o Rastafarian boys down in Red Hook. They let me crash in their apartment so long as I run a few things for 'em."

"Run… like run _drugs?_ "

"Nah, mate. I mean, maybe a little bit o' Mary Jane now and again, but that's, like, part of their religion, yeah? Nothin' wrong with that."

Raphael only grunted in response. "What else?"

"Groceries, messages, payin' debts, the like."

"How the hell d'you do all that lookin' like you do?"

"I don't do it meself. Like, I'll stay hidden, yeah? Get a guy to grab what I need, pay what I need. Whatever. I move fast enough to not be seen if they get too curious, fast enough to track 'em down an' jump 'em if they think they can get away with my money."

"An' you don't care if they see you?"

"They usually don't," Dreadmon shrugged, "An' if they do, who cares? Ain't nobody can catch me, an' nobody would believe the stories. 'Sides, only back I gotta watch is my own; only man I have to answer to is me. Question is, why _you_ so scared?"

"I ain't scared!" That response probably came a bit too fast, but Raphael was getting tired of how clever this wolf was. He seemed to figure out things he ought not, or bleed secrets out of Raphael himself in ways he had _literally_ trained against. But he stood his ground and sneered, hoping that would end the line of questioning. It didn't.

"Uh-huh. Big bad turtle-man, hidin' in the shadows like some kinda ninja. What you got to protect, hm? Got a turtle girlfriend back home? Or maybe she's some kinda frog, eh?"

"I ain't got no girlfriend an' I don't know no frogs. But I know people, an' I know better to go stickin' my beak somewhere it can get cut off an' sliced up in some science lab." That last part was a constant insistence of Donatello, but hopefully Dreadmon wouldn't pick it up as out-of-character for Raphael to say. He wasn't _that_ clever… was he? "'Sides… I ain't as fast as you."

"Right. 'Cuz you're a turtle, yeah?"

"Shut up," Raph sneered.

Dreadmon barked a laugh. "You're too uptight, turtle."

"Raphael," he corrected.

"Raphael. You got a cell phone, man?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. _Donnie_ had a cell phone; an iPhone 4s with a shattered screen, but it got signal in most parts of the sewer thanks to a series of wifi extenders Don had set up leeching off of the nearby McDonalds. Raph was pretty sure he could procure it if need be. "Why?"

The wolf dug into the waistband of his sarong, taking out a piece of paper and a tie-dye patterned stub of a pencil with marijuana leaves stamped all over it. He scratched down a number, then handed the paper to Raphael.

"That's my number. Text me if you wanna talk. I only come down this way every now an' then, ain't a good way to get in touch. Don't want you catchin' sunburn or whatever, sittin' out here in the rain. Text only! _Don't_ call. I only got so many minutes, yeah? Don't need to waste 'em on casual chit-chat."

"Yeah," Raph tucked the paper in-between his wrist and the athletic tape wrapped around it and nodded. "All right. Maybe I will."

"Maybe you will. For now, I got shit to do. Aweh!"

Dreadmon waved his hand and was gone like a blur, sending the tails of Raphael's mask blowing in the draft. The turtle stood in the alley for a few moments more, a bit too busy trying to wrap his head around the meaning of the situation to react. After a few moments he smiled, pulling the paper out of his wrist tape and looking at it. It was a real number, all right. Ten digits, and "DREADMON" written in big, block letters below it. Raphael folded the paper back up and tucked it back into his wrist, and headed back toward his sewer home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I'm not dead. I just don't write very frequently. Thanks to everyone who's enjoyed the story so far. I DO have more planned, I just have other projects that have precedent.
> 
> Enjoy! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael finally returns home, though Leonardo doesn't exactly make it welcome.

"I respect your opinion, Sensei, but I still don't like it."

Leonardo and Splinter were in the kitchen area of the turtles' home, discussing Raphael's absence over the last few days between cups of jasmine tea. Michelangelo and Donatello were occupying themselves in the living room with a salvaged Game Boy Color's copy of Pokémon Yellow and reruns of Doctor Who respectively, but with there being no wall between the two 'rooms', it was hard not to be part of the conversation.

"I have seen Raphael every morning. He is in his bed when I wake, and we exchange pleasantries when he leaves. I share your concerns and I, too, would prefer to know what my son is occupying his time with. But we must trust that he can take care of himself, and has our family's best interests in mind."

"Maybe he finally found that girlfriend," Mikey quipped, expecting a chuckle from Donnie, but he only got a shush in response. Michelangelo frowned, but clammed up and returned to his game. There were Cybermen on the screen, and Donnie was always tense when there were Cybermen on the screen.

Leonardo shot Mikey a little side-eye, but otherwise ignored him. " _Can_ we trust him, Master? He's missed two training drills in the last three days. 'Insubordination' is practically his middle name at this point! How are we supposed to function as a team if he isn't around to be a part of it?"

"Three days is not going to undo a lifetime of training, Leonardo," Splinter sighed, "and if the four of you were to ever take a rest, this would be the time. All of the New York underground knows of the Shredder's fate, even if they do not know at whose hands it came. For the first time in your young lives you have the opportunity to _be_ teenagers. I would advise you take it while there is still peace to be enjoyed."

"Master Splinter's got a point, Leo," Donatello half-hollered over the couch. It was a commercial break, so he could afford to tear his attention away from BBC America for a moment. "Statistically speaking, the power vacuum created by the Foot Clan's reduced presence on the streets will take a few more days to be filled. Nobody outside of the mafia is into the kind of business the Foot were into, and they're way too white-collar for us to try to take vigilante justice against. At worst we're gonna see a rise in petty crime over the next few weeks until it fills in proper. … unless some outside force swoops in, but the likelihood of that is fairly low."

"Yeah, dude," Michelangelo inserted, "gimme a coupla days to beat the Elite Four. My pikachu's almost level 70!"

Leo sighed and pushed up away from the table. "Fine. If Master Splinter insists, we'll take a few days off… until Raphael gets his head out of his ass."

"Leonardo!" Splinter's harsh tone suggested his son had overstepped his bounds, but no manner of punishment followed as the fourth turtle in question stepped through the main opening to their lair.

"Oh, nice! I'm gone for a few days an' Leo turns into the bad boy. I always knew you had it in ya." Raph's tone was playful, but Leonardo was clearly in no mood.

"Raphael." Leo sneered at his brother as he strolled a few steps more into the kitchen, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "It's only mid-afternoon. Shouldn't you be… … _'out'?_ "

"I was," Raph shrugged. "Now I'm not. See? I'm _home_. That's why you can see me. If I was still _out_ , I'd be waaaaaay too far away to see. I thought you was supposed to be the all-observant leader of this group?"

"What group?" Leonardo grumbled, finally turning and stalking out of the kitchen. Raphael watched him for a moment before moving his attention to Splinter.

"What crawled up _his_ butt an' died?"

Splinter sighed. "Leonardo has been… frustrated with your absence around the lair."

"Oh _really?_ Hell, I woulda thought he'd be happy not to have to deal with me for a while."

"His concerns were for the unity of the team, and for your safety. Your brother loves and cares about you, Raphael. As do we all."

"Well, ain't that sweet."

"I must admit, while I respect your privacy, I am also quite curious about what's been occupying your time so much recently."

"Uhhh… y'know." 

Raph reached his left hand up and rubbed the back of his head. As much as he wanted to share his joys with someone else, he didn't think Splinter was the right person. He wasn't sure _anyone_ was the right person at this point. Sharing meant questions. Where did Dreadmon come from? How was he a wolf? Who else had seen him? Raphael didn't have answers and he didn't feel like being under the spotlight, so he kept his discovery a secret, for now. He didn't _think_ Splinter could see the bulge of paper at his right wrist, but his Sensei was far more observant than even Leonardo, so he also kept that thumb locked tight in his belt, facing his body as much as possible. 

"… just… explorin' the tunnels. Trainin'. Thinkin'. Sometimes I just need… uhhh… some time to myself. Y'know?"

"Mhm." Splinter raised an eyebrow appraisingly, then shook his head and collected his cup. "I think I will make an early night of it. There is much I must meditate on, and I'm sure the three of you would have a better time without your father looking over your shoulders." Splinter rose, clapping a hand on Raph's bicep and giving his son a warm smile. "I am glad to see you home, Raphael."

"Yeah, thanks. Uh… you too, Master."

"Night, dad," Michelangelo waved, absently.

"Night," Donatello added as the show returned from its commercial break.

Raphael watched his rodent father pad quietly in the direction of his room until he was well out of sight, then let the tension out of his shoulders. He had paused too long coming up with an excuse, and Splinter could see right through it, but he'd let it go for now. That gave Raph time to come up with answers to all those questions, one way or another, and that meant he could relax. His eyes browsed over his brothers first, neither one paying him any amount of attention. Michelangelo's tongue was held between his teeth in concentration as he carefully selected moves on the tiny video game screen and Donatello was sunk so low into the couch he could see more of his brother's feet on the coffee table than he could the top of his head. He wouldn't be in the mood for requests until the next commercial break, so instead Raph turned to look over the rest of the lair.

The last few times he'd come home it was dark. As ninja, Raphael was accustomed to operating in darkened surroundings, but there was a vast difference between moving through a room to take out a target (or find his way to bed) and taking in the little details that had changed in his absence. There were a few dishes in the sink, a fresh (if bruised) lily in Splinter's slender vase on the kitchen table, and the trash had been taken out. Things had that fastidious cleanliness that Leonardo caused when he was pissed off about something. Even Donatello on his best days didn't bother scrubbing the groutwork, and here it was looking as clean as a wall in a sewer possibly could. He opened the refrigerator door to find a few boxes of scavenged pizza and a few odd groceries only _just_ past their sell-by dates. Most things would hold up for a little while after that, enough for them to be safe to eat, but easy enough to scavenge from more discerning consumers. Eggs in particular would survive quite some time after a family would usually throw them out, and provided the boys a lot of the protein and vitamins they needed while training, but their fragility made them harder to collect.

Raphael sighed and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. Michelangelo was the same. Donatello was the same. Splinter was arguably the same… he felt as though _something_ was off, but couldn't separate that notion from his own paranoia about his father being aware of the note at his wrist. Only Leonardo was acting stupid… and while that wasn't a change from the usual, it was still a source of frustration and confusion. His other brothers could screw around and dive into their own personal pursuits as much as they wanted and Leo didn't give them _half_ the shit he gave Raphael. Why the hell did he care so much? Didn't he realize if he just… let some of it go, let Raph be on his own sometimes, it wouldn't cause half the problems it did? If he wouldn't be so damn judgmental…

Raphael shook the train of thought from his head as he recognized a commercial jingle. Now was his chance to ask about the phone. 

"Hey, Donnie?"

"'Sup?" His brother didn't move at all on the couch, though at some point he'd folded his arms behind his head, elbows poking up over the cushions.

"You still got that… uh… broken cell phone?"

"Y… eah. Why?" There was an edge of suspicion to his voice. It shouldn't be _that_ weird of a request; he'd asked to borrow the phone before because… well, he was a teenager and technology is neat. Was _Donnie_ onto him? He sat up straighter on the couch, but still didn't turn to face Raph.

"I… uh… was wantin' to know if I could borrow it for a while. Y'know. Surf the web or whatever while I'm… out. Maybe play some games."

"I mean… I don't know how much signal you'll get deeper in the sewers, but you're welcome to it. Just… uh… hold on a second." The 'second' seemed to last more like ten minutes, but Donnie finally got up off the couch. He looked a little unsure, but handed the device over to Raphael. "Don't try to turn the cellular data on, 'cuz we obviously don't have a plan and the phone starts to act stupid trying to set us up with one. You can still make calls and texts through WhatsApp if you find enough cash for a pizza or whatever, an' the Wifi should auto-connect anywhere that doesn't need a password, so like… McDonalds and Starbucks and stuff. Sometimes it makes you accept an agreement, or… whatever. Just open the browser and it should pop up. Don't…" Donatello sighed, and Raphael screwed up his face, knowing what was coming. "Don't drop it in the water again, _please?_ "

"That was an accident."

"I _know_ , but if I don't say it--"

Raph waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Don't worry, I'll keep it nice an' safe."

"Thank you," he sighed in relief before returning to the living room where his show had already restarted.

"An' don't erase my data in Sea Stars, dude!" Michelangelo piped up. "I don't know who did it last time, I'm not gonna point fingers, but I don't wanna hafta unlock Cthulhu again. I had to watch SO many stupid ads for free coins…"

Raph chuckled. "Yeah, don't worry about it, Mikey. I won't touch your game."

" _Thank_ you."

Raphael sat in the kitchen for a few more moments, not wanting to look too eager to scuttle off to his room with his new prize. He idly looked through the home screen of the phone, checking what apps had been downloaded since the last time he used it and half-watching The Doctor save the day with some manner of silliness on the TV before finally pushing out of his seat. It was strange; despite the weight of everything they'd been through clouding his head for so long… on his way to the comfortable privacy of his own room with this stupid, cracked phone in his fist and Dreadmon's number tucked in his wristband, he felt more light-hearted and excited than he could remember _ever_ feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donatello's up late and messaging an online friend, when curious questions are raised.

Donatello sat in front of his computer monitor; a recently-salvaged flatscreen with only a few dead pixels and a cracked case. The warm, off-white glow washed over him, and a blue hospital blanket draped over his shell and tucked above his head like a hood. The sewer got cold at night (nevermind in the winter), and the colder he was the less he was likely to do anything constructive. He wasn't sure if that was a carryover from being part reptile, or if he just hated doing stuff when it was cold, but it _was_ chilly enough to bundle up.

Not that Donatello was _actually_ doing anything constructive. An instant messenger was open on his desktop, and another window had a YouTuble Let's Play running with an excitable, red-coiffed man traversing a digitized dark dungeon. A pair of off-brand headphones (repaired with duct tape) kept the comedic screaming from echoing to the rest of the lair, and the artificial isolation left Donnie feeling like he was in his own private getaway despite being safe at home. A musical ping brought his attention to his IM screen.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:04 AM)  
yo donnie. you around?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:04 AM)  
Yeah, I'm here. Just watching Markiplier. What's up?

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:04 AM)  
nmh. just surprised your on so much lately. dont you usually have to take the dog for a walk or whatever?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:05 AM)  
My brothers have been taking care of it lately.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:05 AM)  
bout time. im sure they pet him and shit. they should have to walk him too!

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:05 AM)  
Yeah.

Donnie didn't like lying to his friends, especially not Ryan. Out of all of the people he'd met online, Ryan was always the closest to him. He seemed to understand a lot of Donnie's problems on a personal level and the two had helped each other through a lot, shared hundreds of late-night conversations, and downed more raid bosses together than he could count.

Well, that last one wasn't quite true. Donnie was _very_ good at counting and had several spreadsheets for the express purpose of keeping track of his accomplishments in Final Fantasy XIV and World of Warcraft before it. But still. It was a lot. Enough that deceit always felt dirty, even if the truth was far more risky and unbelievable. Speaking of deceit…

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:07 AM)  
Oh, hey, you haven't tried to text me over WhatsApp or anything, have you?

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:08 AM)  
nope. not since you told me you an your family were going away for a few days and youd be without wifi.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:08 AM)  
Good. Hold off on that until I say otherwise. My brother's borrowing my phone for a little bit and… I dunno. I try to keep my online life separate from my real life, I guess.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:08 AM)  
oh i see how it is.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:08 AM)  
im good enough to help you beat ozma, but not good enough to be shared with your loving family.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:08 AM)  
Oh, stop.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:08 AM)  
woe is me! oh woe! donnie doesnt wanna tell his brothers about me! he HATES me!

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:08 AM)  
You know it's not like that.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:09 AM)  
i know. but its fun to rustle your jimmies.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:09 AM)  
I know. But I do kinda feel bad. I mean, it's not like I'm doing anything wrong. We just… have a really introverted family. Between being homeschooled and living so far away from civilization…

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:09 AM)  
sure, dude, but your 17. theyve gotta expect you to try making friends soon somehow.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:09 AM)  
besides, you have a cell phone and a computer. im sure your dad put two an two together. unless he thinks you just spend all day watching pewdiepie.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:09 AM)  
Markiplier.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:10 AM)  
same difference. lol

There was a HUGE difference! PewDiePie was _way_ more of a screeching idiot. He was a decent guy in real life, as far as Donnie knew, but when it came to entertainment output, Markiplier was far more refined. Mark yelled a lot, sure, but it was _funny_ yelling. Donnie'd had this argument with Ryan several times in the past, but by this point it was tired ground to retread. Anyhow, he was almost positive Ryan was just trying to get under his skin. One of his favorite things was to rile people up just for the sake of putting them off their cool. He'd explained it was his way of seeing the "real" person through the false presentation of their online persona. He'd complimented Donnie on being genuine in the face of such adversity, and often cited it as one of the reasons they were such good friends.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:11 AM)  
besides, game grumps is better.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (12:11 AM)  
Well, THAT I can't argue with.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (12:11 AM)  
lol. danny is my spirit animal.

The two continued to exchange favorite moments, funny lines, and epic episodes of the web series for some time, and eventually the conversation spun off into other shows, video games themselves, and simple catching up. It had been a long time since Donnie'd had time to talk to Ryan so freely. With Leonardo being so insistent about drills despite Raphael's absence he'd had to adhere to a stricter bedtime. He always thought it was a bit odd Leonardo was so determined to keep an early-to-bed-early-to-rise schedule when so much of what they actually did was under the cover of night, but seeing what Raphael (and to a lesser extent Michelangelo) had to put up with when they questioned Leo, he'd just decided to roll with it and avoid the confrontation. With the time off they'd been afforded, though, it meant he could stay up as late as he wanted to.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:39 AM)  
hey why the hell does your brother need to borrow your phone anyhow?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:39 AM)  
He doesn't have one of his own. It's kind of the family phone, but I'm the one who keeps it updated and uses it the most.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:39 AM)  
sure, but i mean… WHY does he want the phone? if you guys dont have friends and stuff, what does he need the phone for?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:40 AM)  
He's been going out on his own a lot lately. He said he wanted to play games or something.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:40 AM)  
dude that is some serious bs.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:40 AM)  
Eh, it's not a big deal. I don't NEED it right now. I don't have to do anything over the next few days, so I can talk to people on here.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:40 AM)  
no, I mean, he's full of shit. has he ever asked to borrow the phone like that before?

Huh. Y'know, now that he mentioned it, Raph _hadn't_ ever really asked to see the phone before while going out. Not long after they first got it he'd wanted to see it, but only once or twice since then. While all of them had to stay in good condition to fight criminals and move through the city unseen, Raphael was the one who was in the best shape out of all of them. He was usually content to free-run, beat up inanimate objects… often with _other_ inanimate objects, or just do a little light crime-fighting on his own. Browsing the web, playing games… that was more Mikey's territory, if anyone's.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:41 AM)  
Y'know… now that you mention it…

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:41 AM)  
see? your so busy protecting your own ass that your brothers up to something and you didnt even notice. I thought you were sposeda be a ninja? arent ninjas sposeda be observant?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:41 AM)  
*laughs* Well, I've only been doing ninja training for about five years. I'm allowed to make mistakes.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:42 AM)  
well just be more careful in the future. otherwise ill have to tell your sensei on you.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:42 AM)  
*chuckles* I promise I'll do better next time.

It was always amusing when Ryan was closer to the truth of things than he realized. Acting like a goof online was common enough he could get away with talking openly some of the more outlandish aspects of his life and everybody just thought he was joking or exaggerating, and went along with it.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:43 AM)  
So what do you think Raphael wants with my phone?

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:43 AM)  
how am i sposeda know? hes your brother.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:43 AM)  
Right, but you were the one to figure out he was up to something.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:43 AM)  
true.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:44 AM)  
ok, so, if YOU were the one borrowing the phone, why would YOU want it?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:44 AM)  
Uh… I mean, I'D actually want to play with an app or something.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:44 AM)  
but he doesnt do that you said.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:44 AM)  
No, he doesn't. And the only other reason I'd have to use a phone would be to call or text somebody…

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:45 AM)  
I mean, I DID tell him how to order a pizza with it. Maybe hes just been hungry?

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:45 AM)  
hed only need the phone for a minute if that was what he wanted it for.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:45 AM)  
Damn, you're right.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:45 AM)  
So… you think he might have found someone to talk to, too?

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:46 AM)  
well, I mean, clearly nobody in your family has ever made a friend before so its probably about time. has he been acting weird lately? like, secretive or something?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:46 AM)  
No, no more than usual. Although…

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:46 AM)  
He HAS been more… jolly.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:46 AM)  
he's about six months early for christmas. lol.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:46 AM)  
No, I mean… I dunno. He was real pissed off the other day. Understandably so… but then he went out and he's just kinda… stayed out. But when I talked to him last night, he was… I dunno. Really grateful. Nice even.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:46 AM)  
whoa.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:47 AM)  
did he say please?

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:47 AM)  
He did not.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:47 AM)  
well then hes probably not on drugs or anything. lol.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:47 AM)  
Well, thank goodness for that, at least. *laughs*

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:51 AM)  
… you think I should talk to my dad about it?

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:51 AM)  
i dunno, man. that’s your call. you know your brother and you know your dad a hell of a lot better than i do.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:52 AM)  
if your legit worried about him, id say yeah. talk to your dad.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:52 AM)  
but at the same time, if you dont think hes into anything bad or out there hurting himself or whatever, then you can probably let it go.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:52 AM)  
i mean, lets just be real. he probably just met some girl or something.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:52 AM)  
I find that highly unlikely.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:52 AM)  
i dunno, man. isnt raphael your "cool" brother? i bet all the hunnies wanna get with him.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:53 AM)  
Yeah, Raph is cool, but he's rude. And abrasive. And a jerk.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:53 AM)  
you said he was nice to you last night.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:53 AM)  
a guy will do a lot to get with a girl, man. even being super nice.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:53 AM)  
You might have a point…

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:53 AM)  
besdies, homeboy cant keep whackin it forever. lol.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:54 AM)  
*LAUGHS*

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:54 AM)  
You're awful.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:54 AM)  
lol. you laughed at it.

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:54 AM)  
Yes. Which means I'm officially up WAY too late. 

**\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:54 AM)  
bah. its not too late until the sun comes up!

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:55 AM)  
Tch. Yeah, right. I might be a night owl, but YOU are a bat. 

**\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:55 AM)  
LOL. dats me. im da BATMAN!

 **Keyboard Ninja** (2:55 AM)  
G'night, Ryan.

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:55 AM)  
night donnie. dont let the bedbugs bite!

 **\/\/1|\|9|\|U7** (2:55 AM)  
or the BEDBATS!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters posted so close together? It's a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!
> 
> For those of you who are reading, could I get some feedback? Should I be leaving the chapter summaries for each chapter? Chapter titles? Are those cool? Are they helpful? Should I be tagging more spoiler-y characters like Dreadmon and the fellow in the chapter above? I'm sort of new to writing fanfic and never really used the tags much before myself, so any feedback you have is great. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael and Dreadmon commiserate over Subway.

It had been a few days since Raphael had borrowed Donatello's phone to exchange text messages with Dreadmon. Walking him through the process of downloading WhatsApp was a bit of a pain in the ass, especially when Raphael wasn't really sure how it got on the phone in the first place. But he was determined to do it without asking for help, primarily to preserve his pride, but also to make himself as inconspicuous as possible to his brothers. As much as there probably shouldn't be any taboo over a teenage boy making friends, it was a little different when the boy was a mutant turtle raised in the sewers as a ninja who was just complicit in the death of a master assassin. Raph couldn't tell if his friend being some kind of wolf-man made the situation more unusual, or less.

"Hey, uh… can I ask you a personal question?" Raphael and Dreadmon were on the roof of the Manhattan Municipal Building, enjoying the stars and sharing a garbage bag full of goodies scavenged from the Subway on Greenwich Street.

"Go for it. Don't mean I'll answer, yeah?"

"Fair," Raph nodded, conceding his point, "I was just wonderin'… how the hell did you… uh… become a wolf… guy?"

"Ah, that." Dreadmon stifled a chuckle with a bite of his sandwich. "It's… kind of out there. Not sure you'd believe me if I told you."

"Try me," Raphael sneered, gesturing with wide arms to his reptilian physique. Now it was Dreadmon's turn to nod in concession.

"Well… me parents were from Jamaica originally. S'why I get along so well with the heads an' Rastafari, cav? I was born in South Africa 'cuz me mum's from there originally, an' she went back there to be with her family while she birthed me. They were all a little scared coming to Jamaica 'cuz it hadn't been so long since Apartheid, yeah?"

"Apartheid?" He'd heard that word on TV before, but never really knew what it meant. Raph was following the slang well enough from the wolf's tone and context clues. He honestly appreciated that Dreadmon was comfortable enough to be using it around him, and didn't want to stop him to explain his verbiage every few minutes, but something as important-sounding as Apartheid required a very clear picture.

"Yeah, it was this big, like… whatchacall… institutionalized racism bullshit. It was well done with before I was born. Early nineties, I think. I weren't born 'til '95, so before then at any rate. Segregation an' shit. Me family was still nervous. It was over, but it wasn't… _over_ … y'know? Anyhow, the money to get back to Jamaica didn't happen 'til I was twelve. Dad lost his job an' the family was still nervous sendin' a baby boy back out into the wide world. We were settled in with loved ones and dad wrote every week. By the time we finally left, the boys in East London I fell in with taught me how to sneak food an' thing for free."

Raphael's mouth flattened a bit as a reaction, and he winced when Dreadmon caught the expression. He wasn't _trying_ to pass judgment on the guy, but a disdain for crime had been taught to him since he was young. His family did as much as they could with the food and objects others threw away; one man's trash was a turtle's treasure. Splinter had given him a stern enough lecture when he took the cash out of a beaten thug's wallet that the idea hadn't crossed his mind a second time. They _fought_ muggers, purse-snatchers, and petty thieves. They _weren't_ those things. The pot was one thing; like Dreadmon said. It was a religious thing for his Rastafarian friends, and even Splinter said it was pretty harmless compared to the perfectly legal alcohol and tobacco at the end of the day… but out-and-out theft? Even if it _was_ for food…

"Yeah, I'm gettin' to that part." Dreadmon waved his hand in dismissal, and continued speaking. "So, when we finally got to Portmore I hadn't stopped roppin' whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Me mum didn't know, an' I didn't see any reason to stop doin' for me by any means necessary. Life was harder in South Africa than it was in Jamaica. I was still little, an' didn't understand the difference. So, one day I pick up a handful of chocolates from a little shop. Thought I got away with it 'til a few nights later, I was out on my own in a rough part of town…" Dreadmon smiled and shook his head, "an' this old woman's standin' in my way. She says 'boy, I gon' learn you 'bout stealin' from a Voodoo Queen!' An' she moves her fingers in the air in some mad symbols, an' spits in my face! She says 'you gon' act like an animal, you gon' _run_ with the animals!' I didn't think nothin' of it 'cept to be pissed she spit on me, but I go home an' go to bed an' next mornin'… I wake up like this."

"Huh." Raphael seemed skeptical but, well, the living article was sitting just in front of him. "So did you, like… try to go back? Apologize? Pay for the candy?"

"Course! I freaked out for one night, thought it was some fever-dream and tried to sleep it off, then the third night I went back to her shop just before close. Tried to get her to undo whatever she did. She says she can't. Or she won't. Says the punishment stays until I atone for my crimes. An' not just stealin' her chocolates, but _all_ my crimes."

"An'… how're you s'poseda do that?"

"Hell if I know! She said some cryptic kak when I asked, an' I was so frustrated I had to get outta there 'fore I trashed her shop an'… extended my sentence, or whatever." Dreadmon dug back into the trash bag, picking out a few decent pieces of meat and dangling them into his mouth. Raphael watched him carefully, still trying to figure out whether the wolf-man was having him on or not, but in the end Dreadmon had nothing to gain by lying to him, so he went with it. One question, however, was at the forefront of his thoughts.

"… what'd your family say?"

"Mmm… typical lecture. Rastafari, Vaudun, Christian, whatever… stealin' an' thuggin' ain't exactly well-liked after-school activities."

"No, I mean… about bein' a wolf."

"Ah. Yeah. Well, they was shocked at first. Mom hit me with a potjie once or twice 'fore she heard her son's voice comin' out of the beast. Me dad gave me enough money to hop a boat to America. Easier to hide, he said. An' he weren't wrong. More alleys, less superstition. Safer. Plus, on the boat I found out that the… spell, the _curse_ … whatever it is. It also made me _fast_. I might not be able to walk among people anymore, but I could move when they weren't lookin', faster than they could possibly look… if I was careful."

"So… I'm guessin' you don't steal anymore."

"'Course not!" Dreadmon snorted, "I miss bein' able to walk down the street without thinkin' about it. Haven't done anything illegal since I got here, 'cept for movin' a little ganja an' maybe rippin' an album off the internet."

"Heh, yeah. If I could get a paycheck an' walk into a Best Buy, I woulda paid for Yeezus fair an' square, but that ain't exactly an option for us."

"Aye," The wolf curled his furry fingers into a fist and held them aloft for Raph to bump. "He's got a new one, y'know? Life of Pablo. Good shit, deep shit."

"Yeah, I got that. I like Yeezus better, 'cuz… it's like… it's ugly, y'know? Like, grungy and dirty. Aggressive. I get that, y'know? I can feel that, right here…" he tapped his plastron right near his heart. "Sometimes life don't seem fair, or don't make any sense. You're just dealin' with this… this _anger_ , an' you wanna smack someone upside the head, or just… put your fist through a wall or somethin', but… what good's that gonna do? Y'know?"

"I do, I do."

Raphael began assembling a third sandwich from the contents of the bag, tossing away a few rotten pieces of lettuce and some pickles that smelled more like old mop water than salt brine and vinegar. Something about Dreadmon provoked a desire to be… honest from Raphael. A desire for full disclosure. He seemed friendly enough, and genuine enough. Raph didn't have any reason to believe anything Dreadmon had told him was a lie, even as outlandish as it might seem. Maybe it was because sharing things with his brothers was so difficult that it was nice to have someone who seemed receptive to it. The wolf had shared, after all. It made sense for Raphael to share right back. Maybe that's why he was so quick to respond when Dreadmon returned the question.

"So… I got cursed. How is it _you_ became what you are?"

"Uh… mad science?"

"Mad science?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I don't know all the details." Donatello did. Splinter did. Leonardo probably did. Thinking about it too hard just led Raph to ask too many questions nobody had answers to, and it just put him in an even worse mood than usual. "I didn't used to be human like you; I was always a turtle, y'know? But somehow we got introduced to this… symbiotic mutagen? An' we started to change. Somehow… we ended up in the sewer. That's where our father found us, an' came in contact with the mutagen as well. He kept us safe while we grew up. Trained us to fight, an' hide."

"'Us'?"

Raph nodded. "Yeah, my brothers. Four of us, an'… uhh… our dad. Adopted, I guess. My people, that I was talkin' about the other day." Dreadmon nodded in understanding, waiting patiently to hear more. "Family's important… I don't know what I'd do without 'em, but… goddamn if they don't get under my shell sometimes."

"Family's good at that. But I find most times they're a pain in your back so hard because they _have_ your back so hard. My pop coulda tossed me out with the trash, mum coulda disowned me. They didn't. They worked with me, they believed me, an' they did the best they could for me."

"Do you miss 'em?" Raph asked, knowing the answer before he even finished his question.

"Oh, yeah. But, y'know... I was some seventeen when I came up here. About time for a boy to become a man anyway. This isn't the way I ever figured I'd do it, but life is well good at throwin' you a surprise when you least expect it."

"Yeah."

Dreadmon reminded Raphael of himself in a way he hadn't felt with other people before. There was a kinship, and while he shared that with his brothers on a sort of… unshakeable level deep down inside, his similarities to Dreadmon felt closer to the surface. Mikey never let anything important get to him, and always let too much stupid stuff ruin his day. Donatello was so quiet and withdrawn… he could talk to him, but _he_ had to start the conversation, and it never really went far. And Leonardo… well, the less said about why Leonardo rubbed him the wrong way, the better. He was having a good night and didn't want that to taint it. They were brothers, and nothing would change that. Splinter was his father and his sensei; full of great advice and a mild temper, but not exactly someone to commiserate with. Dreadmon was a _friend_ , and he hated hearing his new friend have to struggle with such hardships. Especially if he might have a solution.

"D'you think if you got over your wolf curse, you'd be able to go back to your family?"

"Probably," Dreadmon shrugged, handing Raphael one half of a stale chocolate chip cookie, "at least for a visit. It would be nice to see them again. We keep in touch, but I haven't hugged me mum in four years. I miss her."

"'Cuz… my brothers an' me. We… we do our part. Stoppin' street thugs, bustin' up gangs. Helpin' people. We blew up on this ninja cabal not too long ago, _that_ was a trip."

" _Ninjas?_ Like, for real?"

Raph chuckled. "Yeah. You got voodoo magic, I got ninjas an' mad science."

Dreadmon held up both hands in surrender and laughed. "A'right. A'right. Fair enough."

"Anyhow, we do our best to do good. Y'know? Stop bad people. Help innocent people. It's hard… when you look like this… but… we do what we can. If… if you wanted to try an'… do some good. For your curse? Maybe I could talk to 'em, or…" Raph shrugged, not sure how to end the sentence.

"Yeah, maybe," Dreadmon nodded in response. "You guys seem like you're pretty private folks, though. Took you a week to even mention 'em. Y'think they'd really be cool hangin' out with a dreadlocked wolf-man?"

Raphael grinned. "Only one way to find out."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael comes to Leonardo with a question, and the turtle in blue makes some difficult choices during a night on patrol.

Michelangelo's sense of smell was so refined that he could find a salvageable slice of pizza in a bag of offal _almost_ without looking. His taste was probably just as sharp, hence why trying out new foods and enjoying old favorites were among his favorite things in life. Donatello's eyes were _his_ keenest sense; he was usually the one keeping his head on a swivel as the turtles moved through any area they might be spotted, and there was no doubt it helped him work with the small parts of machines and circuitry he obsessed over. Raphael seemed to… _feel_ further out than his physical body. Spatial awareness of both himself and the people and objects around him. He'd dodged obstacles with his eyes closed better than his brothers often did with full sensory focus, and almost always seemed to know when someone was sneaking up behind him. Leonardo, however, had the sharpest hearing. He knew when someone moved through the rooms of the house, or shifted in their beds during the still of the night. He could often make out the words of his brothers talking in the living room over the blaring TV, or even the muttered sutras of his Master meditating in a language he didn't fully understand. 

This heightened awareness combined with years of living in close quarters with the same people led him to be able to discern each of his housemates' by the sound of their footsteps alone. Splinter glided with a hush, almost silent if it weren't for his tail dragging and his nails scraping the floor. Donatello moved carefully and deliberately, touching the walls often as he pushed through doorways or walked longer halls. Michelangelo always seemed to have a _rhythm_ to his step, and sometimes he outright danced from room to room; Leonardo had visual confirmation of this habit. But the sturdy, intent footfalls that approached him now could only belong to Raphael. He paused just outside the open door, leaning against the corner wall. Leonardo said nothing. His back was to the door (and thus to his brother) so he had the option to ignore him for the time being, and took it. This wasn't a rare occurrence, honestly. Especially when Raphael felt like picking a fight, or needed to get something off his chest, he'd lurk outside Leo's door, waiting. It was almost like a game of chicken; whoever broke first lost the confidence advantage in the conversation, and after everything Raphael had done in the last week, Leo wasn't losing that today.

"Yo, Leo… … you awake?"

"I am."

Rarely did anyone sit in the lotus position while sleeping. He was sure Splinter had done it before in their youth during mandatory meditation time, but Leo had only ever used it as a method of sorting out the demons in his head and steeling his focus. Raphael knew this; he knew there was no way Leo was sleeping. He was just looking for that _edge_ , and with Raphael at his back, the serenity of the last few hours was slowly dissolving. Leo needed every advantage for the storm of rage and indignation he was about to receive from his brother. If Raphael felt he won whatever argument was coming, it gave him that much more power the next time he decided to ignore or outright defy an order. It would make it that much harder for Leo to _lead_. 

Give him nothing. Let him _take_ nothing.

"How… uh… how ya been?"

_Nothing._

"Fine."

Silence pressed between them again. For some reason, Raphael wouldn't give in and just… _start the fight_. He was holding back in a way that wasn't typical for him, but Leo couldn't pinpoint _why_. Raphael was so hard to read, so hard to anticipate... with the exception of expecting him to get angry at the drop of a hat. Michelangelo and Donatello were far more predictable, which made them so much easier to communicate with. Especially now, when Raphael was showing all the signs of getting ready to start a fight that Leo had grown accustomed to and yet not instigating… he was growing tired of the game. Thankfully, his brother broke first.

"So, uh… hypothetically speaking… whaddyou think about us, like… teaming up with someone. To take out bad guys, y'know. Like… say we ran into a detective or somethin' who wanted to help us find a criminal--"

"No," the answer came quick and firm. "We don't interact with humans unless we're fighting them. We're _shadows_. _Especially_ not the police. Anyone in law enforcement, _any_ government organization is a threat to our personal safety."

"Sure, I know, but if we're on the same side--"

Leo shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's _too_ big of a risk. Trusting anyone who isn't one of us, who would look at us like we're _different_ …" He trailed off. They'd had the conversation before, in various different combinations of brothers. Raphael knew the reasons, and he knew everything Leo was about to say. Why was he asking?

"All right, but let's say… let's say instead of a cop it _was_ someone like us. Like… what if Splinter missed a turtle when he found us? What if there's… another brother out there roamin' around, or… a sister. I dunno. What if _they_ found us an'… wanted to help?"

Now he was just being ridiculous. Leonardo rose to his feet, grabbing his katana and sheathing them at his back. Raphael was now leaning against the door frame itself, arms crossed over his chest with an oddly earnest look on his face. Something about that emptiness, that lack of his typical fire… it was somehow more infuriating and confusing than anything he'd actually said. Leo walked as though he weren't there and was just trying to exit his room, pausing when his brother's shell was a bit too large to pass by comfortably. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch him with both eyes.

"I don't know what… _pipe-dream_ you're entertaining, Raphael… and I don't know what you _think_ you know? But we're the _only ones out there_ like us. It sucks, but it is what it is. _We_ are the only people you can trust. _Family_ is all we have."

He brushed past Raphael, surprised that his brother attempted to move to allow him to pass. Still, he didn't look back. He needed out of the lair, and it had struck a late enough hour that it would be dark enough for proper cover. They were _shadows_. They were _ninja_. He'd had more than enough of playing at the foolishness that they could be anything less, anything _ordinary_. They were _alone_ , just the five of them. The sooner Raphael got that through his skull, the sooner they could go back to doing something productive with their time. The sooner they could get back to their normal lives.

***

Staring down at New York City from the rooftops at night gave Leonardo something of a sense of purpose. He felt like he _belonged_. It was one of the few places outside the sewers where he could feel comfortable; the lowest points and the highest points of the city. He'd be a bit _more_ comfortable if his brothers were here to do their part and watch his back, but Michelangelo and Donatello were too happy to while away their illusion of free time on video games and YouTube, and Raphael… 

…

… Raphael was the reason he was out here alone in the first place. Raphael would get an invite when he apologized, or at least pulled his head out of his ass.

The streets were actually about as quiet as Donatello suggested. There were a few very public muggings and gang confrontations that Leo sadly couldn't afford to interfere in, but the police followed as quickly as they could to do their best for the poor citizens of NYC. Just past 3 AM, however, things became interesting. A few thugs had cornered a young woman in an alley. Delicate hearing or not, Leo couldn't make out exactly what their demands were above the general din of the city, especially not as far up as he was. That wasn't what was noteworthy, however. Not the girl, or the thugs themselves… but the _weapons_ they had. The way they carried themselves. Not a week after their clash on the rooftop, these thugs were wielding the weaponry of the fallen Foot Clan. Worse yet, they were holding them like they actually knew what they were doing.

Leonardo descended as quietly as possible, but made his haste. He wanted to learn more, but didn't want to put the girl in danger because of his curiosity. He wanted to keep the element of surprise, but he also wanted to be able to hear their conversation over the sounds of his own movement. Curious, certainly, but efficient about it. Just after he lighted on the third floor fire escape, he could start to pick them up. Context clues and small assumptions filled in the details he missed.

"Look, lady. It's real easy; just give us the phone an' we won't have to perforate ya." A portly, dark-skinned fellow with a purple mohawk was making the threats. He had a kunai gripped in his fist, and a few more tucked into the outside of his high-collar jacket. He didn't have half the training Leonardo did, nor most of the Foot they had faced for that matter… but he knew more than your average goon with a Crunchyroll subscription. _Someone_ had taught him how to use that thing.

"Ha! What phone? What're you talking about? I don't have any phone." 

She didn't sound as nervous as she probably should, given the circumstances. She wasn't a _small_ person by any stretch, but compared to the mohawk and his muscled ginger friend softly swinging the kusari-gama, she wouldn't last long. Even if they were clumsy with those weapons, even if they were beginners… she was unarmed. Pepper spray, maybe. A kubotan? No. Her jeans hugged her hips in a way that made it clear the side pockets were fake, and the only thing in her back pockets was the aforementioned phone. Maybe something under her jacket, but they wouldn't give her the chance to draw it. If she wasn't armed, her confidence was coming from somewhere else. Martial arts training was _possible_ , but even Leonardo wouldn't be so brazenly cocky cornered in an alley and unarmed as she was, and _he_ had a shell.

"Don't play dumb, sweetheart. Just hand it over." The taller man was speaking now, a soft brogue rolled off his tongue that made him far more amiable-sounding than the sinister blade on that kusari-gama. "We ain't the kind o' guys that wanna hafta rough ya up unnecessarily. Honest!"

"Yeah," the mohawk backed him up, nodding, "we just can't let you go postin' none of those videos on the internet or somethin'."

"Right. So just… stop _fucking_ with us… hand it over… an' we can all go home like none 'o this ever happened."

The tall one was losing his patience, or possibly just enjoying himself too much. Either way, Leonardo's conscience wouldn't let this go any further. Besides, they were backing her more and more against the fence. If he didn't act soon, there wouldn't be room for him to drop down behind her. He steeled his focus and made himself as small as possible for the leap down, letting his body crouch naturally and balancing his full weight between his heels and toes. He drew his katana as he dropped, keeping them out to the side to avoid harming the girl. As he stood, he drew them in front of her, the sharpened edges pointed outward toward her attackers.

"Don't turn around, and don't scream. I'm here to help you." He made his words light and low to hide his calming tone from the thugs, and spoke directly into her ear, his breath fluttering her auburn hair. She nodded and forcibly shut her mouth. This close he could see that she was actually trembling… but only slightly. It was something he wondered if her assailants could detect, as well, so he decided to test their nerve with a louder, harsher tone. "I didn't hear you guys say 'please'."

"What the fuck… ?" The taller man's eyes were wide with confusion, but his friend grabbed him backhanded by the vest, patting him excitedly.

"Yo, that's one of them turtles, man! The boss was talkin' about them! Remember?"

"What, y'mean the guys who did The Shredder?"

Leonardo's lips curled a bit at their choice of words; it was so graceless. So tactless. A life was worth so much more than that disrespectful turn of phrase, especially an opponent like the Shredder. An event that had been so devastating to him, and likely to their boss, whoever he was… they didn't deserve to say his name. Not this soon. Was this what Raphael felt like all the time? Itching to scrap in the face of disrespect? Leo tried to make a mental note to be less severe in his word choices next time they spoke, but even he wasn't sure if that mental post-it would survive what could be coming. The smaller man stepped forward.

"Hey. Turtle. We don't want no beef wi'choo. This girl's just been pokin' her nose where it don't belong. That's all!"

"Yeah!" The ginger seemed more confident now. "Been takin' _videos_ , too. An' we didn't sign no release, so… … … pretty sure that's illegal."

"Yeah! Yeah. This is just… a form of digital rights management, y'know? So… if she'll just hand over the phone she took them videos on, we'll be outta yer hair, and nobody has to get hurt!"

"Got about five minutes before our ride shows up," the tall man added, waving his own phone slightly above his head. "So let's not make this an unnecessarily long engagement, aye?" He reached his left fist-- the one still holding the gathered kusari-gama-- across his body and held it aloft. The smaller man punched it with his own right hand--holding the kunai--in celebration of their own cleverness. It wasn't much, but it might've been the only chance he had.

"Do you trust me?" His voice was low and light again, quicker now.

"Uh… _I guess!?_ " She spoke mostly from her throat, out of the side of her mouth.

"Reach back when I say. You'll feel a belt. Grab it. Don't let go. Ready?" She nodded. " _Now!_ "

Leo moved his body lower, both to coil for his leap and to put the belt closer to her hands. The right one found it fast, and held tight. The left fumbled a bit, fingers confusedly grasping against his lower plastron before they found the belt that helped keep his sheath rig in place. Leonardo pushed himself forward and spun during his flight, turning his back to the thugs and shielding the girl from any attacks. As expected, he felt the kunai glance off his shell and heard it clatter to the ground. She made a small "whoa!" of surprise as they took off, but otherwise followed Leo's instructions perfectly. Time to try something a little more complicated.

"Keep your feet up!"

He didn't bother to whisper, and she dutifully did her best to avoid the ground as Leo let one foot touch the concrete enough to create a pivot and continued to propel himself further. The sword in his right hand swung outward, an extension of his arm. He was facing the attackers now, and the taller one had begun spinning his kusari-gama as Leo had anticipated. The chain collided with the katana and wrapped around the blade, allowing Leonardo to twist his forearm and pull the weapon free from the tall man's grasp. His left hand turned in the same direction to point the kashira at the shorter assailant's head, catching him in the temple with the blunt butt of the sword, sending him toppling to the ground. Leonardo and the girl breezed between them, and out into the city street.

Ninja training made his movements precise in the thick of the fight, but breaching from the solitude of the alleyway into the street proper changed things somehow. The trappings of the living, breathing city all around him shattered the inner focus that allowed Leo to move like a dancer despite his natural bulk. With more panic than usual, his eyes searched first for people that might spot him; there were three or four talking on the street corner some twenty to thirty feet away, but they were busy laughing and the less-traveled side-street road was dark enough to hide him for a moment. A shipping truck adorned with fruits and vegetables was turning down the street proper on the other side, likely on its way to spread produce among the restaurants in this part of Flatiron. It could be cover… or it could be a problem. It depended on where the nearest exit was…

… a manhole!

Leonardo's mind raced, silently cursing the irony that Raph's presence would be uniquely useful at the moment. Donatello had gimmicked many of the manhole covers across the city to look normal from above, but still be able to be lifted up with minimal effort should they need to move between the sewers and the streets on short notice. It had been a slow process, and they were kind of spread-out. Leo tried to stay relatively close to them when patrolling, but his mind was elsewhere tonight. _Raphael_ would know without thinking whether or not this manhole was one of them; maps, directions, and navigation were always among his strong suits. Leonardo would have to do his best without. He scanned for a street sign… East 27th… and… Third! They weren't far from that shwarma place Mikey insisted Donnie install a trick manhole near after he'd seen the Avengers. Did he ever get around to that? Was this the right manhole? Leo repeated snippets of a sutra he'd heard his Master chant in times of stress in his head and braced himself.

"Hang on tight!"

"What!?"

To her, being out on the street where people could see was probably safe enough, but she had no idea what he was and that he couldn't afford to be seen. With so much happening at once, Leonardo didn't have time to waste explaining any of that to her. Besides, he still had questions about the footage she'd apparently taken. What was it of? Why was it so important to those goons? How much danger was she in? Was it something they could take to the police, to shut down the remnants of the Foot for good? Leonardo sheathed his weapons and leapt shell-first onto the pavement with a little momentum, tucking his head and limbs in as far as they'd go. He wasn't quite shaped like a normal turtle, but any extra protection would be appreciated when the adrenaline wore off and he had to tend to his injuries from this dumb stunt. The truck let out a panicked honk as it spied the blurry shape darting out of the alley, and Leo sailed underneath, he and the girl clearing the bottom with only inch to spare. His shell scraped against the asphalt as they slid out the other side and the vehicle skidded to a stop, giving him cover enough to pull at the manhole… YES! It _was_ fixed! The girl's grip was loosening as they descended into the dark, but he held her fast. He slid the cover back into place as quietly as he could one-handed, then descended the ladder into the sewers below.

It was probably a block before he relaxed his hurried tip-toe. He let his heels hit the slickness of the tunnel, and remembered to breathe out loud. There was no need to be so quiet; if anyone had actually followed them, they would've made some kind of noise by now. Furthermore, manhole covers were _heavy_. The turtles were abnormally strong for their size, so even with it gimmicked an average person would have some serious difficulty getting the cover out of the ground _if_ they even thought to do so in the first place. People got in cars, turned corners, hid in alleyways… they didn't drop into the sewer. He relaxed a little more as logic seeped in, loosening his grip on the young woman to let her stand on her own. To his surprise, she didn't.

"… uhm… miss?"

It felt weird on his lips, but 'girl' sounded worse in his head and he didn't exactly have time to ask for a name earlier. In any case, she didn't answer, so Leo turned her over in his grip to more of a cradling position. Her face was a little round with soft edges, and certainly didn't seem like it ordinarily sustained injuries like the gash on her forehead. It didn't look _deep_ , but it was bleeding steadily, and the skin around it looked like it might already be bruising. Sewer tunnels were _seriously_ no place for an open wound… but Leo couldn't exactly just drop her off at the hospital. He heaved his shoulders in an exhaled sigh, knowing what needed to be done and precisely what kind of hell he'd catch for doing it.

"Shit," he said firmly, and headed toward the lair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! First chapter of the new year! It was hard to get back into writing after the holidays, sorry about the wait! I figured it was about time we had a chapter from Leo's perspective. One from Mikey's might take a little longer to get out, given the storylines I'm working with, but who knows... maybe I can figure something out. As always, I love to hear feedback!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael and Michelangelo share a conversation, then Raph and Dreadmon go out on patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing has been harder than I thought this year. I finally pushed through a nasty block, and I'm hoping I'm well clear of it. If you guys like my suff, I've also been posting a chapter of my first novel every two weeks in Original Fiction. That's already done so it goes up regardless, but hopefully I can keep up writing fun, fresh TMNT retreads for you guys. Dreadmon made an appearance in the comics again (albeit as a jackal with a different backstory) so that alone is something to celebrate! As always, feedback is appreciated.

Michelangelo was sitting patiently beneath a storm drain as Raphael made his way out of the sewer. He was hard enough to pry away from the TV in any situation, but Raph only just realized he hadn't seen his orange-bandana'd brother since he came home, and that had been over an hour ago. Mikey regarded him with a nod, then returned to staring up out the storm drain.

"Nice night," Raph commented.

"Mm-hm," Michelangelo responded, "Pizza dude's got thirty seconds."

"Yeah? I didn't think they did that anymore."

"Throwback promotion."

Sewage pipes and storm drains were separate for obvious reasons, and it would take some serious effort to access either one of them, but the sewers below New York were already an incredible labyrinth beyond what most cities could even _contain_. Exposed pipes were a common sight for them, in the tunnels. Raph often used unique-looking ones as part of mapping the underground. When they managed to earn up enough money to order a pie, they needed a way to get it delivered. Donnie had rigged up a bypass valve they could close off to access the storm drain, so that even if they forgot to close it the streets wouldn't flood and arouse suspicion. For once, it was a notion Donnie considered _before_ it became an actual problem. As an added bonus, if they ordered online and put in the address as the flower shop above the storm drain, the pizza guy wouldn't check if the shop was closed before delivering. Raphael took a seat next to his brother in the snug pipe.

"Mind if I wait with ya?"

"It's a free country," Mikey joked. "You an' Leo get into it again?"

"Are we _that_ predictable?"

Mike chuckled. "I mean, yeah? But I also heard someone thumping off in the other direction a few minutes ago. Wasn't Donnie; he's got a raid an' the wifi extenders go the other way. Wasn't you, 'cuz… well, you're here now. Sure as hell wasn't dad. I wouldn't have heard _him_."

Raphael nodded, unsure of where to take things. "Thirty seconds are up."

"Yup! Which means we still got fifteen bucks for next time. Although… I was thinkin' about spending it on dad. There's a sushi delivery place in range of the flower shop. Dunno if I can get 'em to deliver to a storm drain more than once, so… I kinda wanted to get him a big haul, y'know?"

"Yeah," Raphael shifted to pull a folded five-dollar bill out of his wristband. He'd found it on the ground, fair and square. Watched it for ten whole minutes before he snatched it up. Hiding things in the wristband had just become a habit at this point. "Put this in for me, wouldja? Sometimes I think he's too good to us."

"Sure! Thanks, dude." 

"Don't mention it," Raphael grunted, maneuvering carefully out of the drain pipe and back into the more spacious sewer tunnel. Michelangelo's voice stopped him. 

"Hey, uh… I dunno how else to ask this so I'm just gonna ask it. Uhm… who's… this new girlfriend of yours?"

"Girlfriend?" Raphael was too confused to be nervous that Mikey was onto him just yet. That sank in a few seconds later. "I ain't got no girlfriend. You know of any five foot turtle chicks around here lookin' like Rihanna that I don't know about?"

"Nah," Michelangelo looked his brother directly in the eyes, his smile softening with a bit of a tired expression. "But you been goin' out… different. And I don't just mean 'cuz we got downtime without the Shredder. You're in a good mood, y'know? You haven't yelled at me or fought me for the TV lately, or anything. I know I'm not as smart as you, or Donnie, or Leo… or dad… … but I'm not _that_ stupid. _Somethin's_ up, an' I figured if I made it sound like I thought you had enough game to pick up a lady you might be less pissed at me for askin'."

Raphael frowned; a natural expression for him. This one was more remorseful than the usual grumpy one he wore, however. "Hey, Mikey… I'm sorry if I go too far with that shit sometimes. I don't--"

"I know, I know," Michelangelo waved it off. "Seriously, though, dude. Answer the question."

Raphael exhaled. His nerves buzzed like dragonflies in his chest, but somehow actually coming out and talking to Mikey about it was less… demanding of his social constitution than explaining everything to Leonardo. Michelangelo was patient, understanding, and didn't usually ask a lot of questions. That he was asking about Raphael's social life of late _at all_ was abnormal enough that Raph was more willing to talk about it if for no other reason than to put his brother's mind at ease. Donatello had a similarly peaceful disposition, but his curiosity made him harder to talk to; he asked _too many_ questions, and sometimes the way he asked them just set Raphael on edge. Maybe it was the soft, somewhat nasal whine to his voice.

"I, uh… I met a friend."

"Just a friend?"

"Yeah," Raph nodded, "just a friend. An' I don't mean like Biz Markie." Michelangelo shot him a finger-gun in lieu of actually laughing. "He… … he's _different_. Like us. Only not for the same reasons. I'm not a hundred on how much I can trust him… but… so far so good, right?"

Mikey nodded, expression somewhere between a smile and… sympathy? Raphael had always wanted to talk to his brother about… _anything_ personal. Mikey was so unflappable… until that little sliver of weariness peeked out around the edges. But it was like he _knew_ to only let it show when it would be a bad time to talk about it, and so none of them ever had. Tonight was no different as an engine rumbled softly above them and a shadow fell across the streetlight filtering down through the drain before stopping not far ahead. The pizza had arrived.

"Well, time to make the magic happen. Watch him try to screw me on the deal…" He leaned up a bit, stashing Raphael's five with the rest of his money before shouting up through the drain. "Yo! Pizza dude! Down here!"

"Ah, not this shit again!" The voice was muffled, but the driver was clearly exasperated.

"Yup, this shit again. Same as last time, brah. One free pie for the sewer guy."

"Yer killin' me, here! Look, I'm sorry! I had to drive all the way from Hell's Kitchen for my last delivery, an' traffic was hell! It's a miracle I made it over here as fast as I did!"

"Yup. That's nice an' everything. But the deal's thirty minutes or less, an' my watch says thirty-five. A wise man once said, 'forgiveness is divine, but never pay full price for late pizza.'"

"I gotta get a new route…" the pizza guy finally muttered, sliding the box down into Mikey's waiting hands.

"Thanks, dude! Catch ya later!"

Raphael chuckled and shook his head, moving on with his plans for the night as Michelangelo returned to the lair with his prize.

* * *

Raphael and Dreadmon met up in Brighton, the darkness more than enough cover from most prying eyes, but still they kept to the shadows and avoided the beaches. Their target location was Cropsey Scrap Iron and Metal Corporation; a junkyard Raph and his brothers had clashed with Purple Dragons and other small-time crooks in before as they attempted to do illicit business among the trash. The business itself was honest enough, but after hours security wasn't their concern so long as nobody was stealing parts.

"An' you just… walk around 'til you see someone to beat up on an' ting?"

"Basically," Raphael shrugged. "Might not sound so glamorous, but we've busted guys carryin' around some serious heroin, cocaine… sometimes even guns an' shit."

"An' you just… kick their asses?"

"Yeah. Can't turn 'em into the cops 'cuz… I mean, we're vigilantes, first of all. That ain't exactly legal in the first place… an' we're mutant turtles, second."

"Yeah, yeah. 'Cuz someone will slice up your beak in a science lab."

"I mean… yeah. That's most of it. We could probably get away, but the more people know about us the more people look for us. Y'know? Makes work hard, an' this is… this is what we do.

"Every night?"

"Most nights. Crime don't take days off."

Dreadmon let out a low whistle through his teeth. "Bad element in this city, yeah? It's like… y'know this shit goes down, but actually seein' it an' tryin' to break it up… whole different story. Makes it more real, right?"

"Yeah, it fucks with your head sometimes." He stooped to carefully peel back the loose bit of metal fence so Dreadmon could duck through and followed after, trying not to let the chain link bang against his shell too loudly as it fell back into place. "You start… I guess profilin'? You catch the same guys wearin' the same colors enough, lookin' nervous an' sketchy enough… it just starts to run together in your head. Hard to tell the actual tweakers an' people with somethin' to hide from guys who're just scared to be out so late in a bad part of town…"

He'd never gone too far with a mistake before; never confronted anyone. That was at Leonardo's demand, unsurprisingly, but it kept him from scaring the pants off an unsuspecting innocent more than once, so he had been trying to force patience into his thoughts. Part of his meditation was reminding himself that people come in all shapes, sizes, and dispositions. Just because two people act alike and one of them's a drug dealer or a gang-banger doesn't mean they both are. It helped if he reminded himself that he and his brothers looked like _monsters_ to these people, and they were decidedly _not_ monsters. Assumptions go both ways.

"So what're we lookin' for?" Dreadmon whispered. 

"Anything suspicious." Raphael had climbed one of the taller stacks of scrap, keeping a low profile while still getting a good vantage point on the junkyard. Dreadmon was up there with him before he finished turning to look, just as silent and infinitely more quick. The wolf's muzzle was close to his "ear" to better carry a low voice, and Raph could feel the heat of his breath on his cheek and down his neck in the cold still of the night. "If you see a flashlight, that's the night watchman. But he's probably asleep in his chair, so you probably ain't gonna see a flashlight. Keep your eyes sharp an'--"

"What 'bout over there?"

Dreadmon pointed with a clawed finger at a little alcove in the scrap. It was completely invisible to the guard tower and would be hard to see anyone on the approach unless they moved past the stack of junk. Three men were standing in a rough triangle, money and packages wrapped in brown paper being exchanged between them.

"Good eyes."

"Like a wolf," Dreadmon smirked. "What's the plan?"

"You any good in a fight?"

Dreadmon shrugged. "Been a while since I been in one. I'm stronger now, an' fast an' ting."

"All right, then you swipe the package. Make sure it's illegal, then I'll come in an' clean house. If you find a chance to insert yourself, do it. But the goal is not to be seen."

"More than' fast enough for that, mate." 

Raphael got a thumbs-up and a wink, and Dreadmon was gone. More than just 'off like a shot' like Usain Bolt, or agile and swift like he and his brothers; Dreadmon was _gone_. No blur of motion he could barely track, no temporary wolf-man in places he stopped to turn or actually snatch the package; just dust kicked up by his rapid footsteps that looked like frustrated gusts of wind. Confusion spread among the three, and two of them drew guns. Raphael hadn't seen them before, or at least didn't remember their faces, but guns were guns and dangerous in anyone's hands regardless of grudge or reputation. He barely saw Dreadmon just… _appear_ high above the trio's heads, waving a thumb in the air with the ripped package in hand. Looked like a signal to him.

Using the confusion to his advantage, Raphael leapt over the small mound of steel and iron he was on, throwing a few kunai to ricochet into his targets and cause them to look in the direction the weapons came from; the _wrong_ direction. The buyer was busy ducking and covering, searching the floor and his out-of-season heavy coat for the package. He had to go down first. Raph hit the ground and slid onto his plastron, tucking his limbs and head in as tight as they would go and using the momentum to BARREL himself into the buyer, smashing him into the broken car grill behind him. He was heavy-set, unprepared to take a hit like that, and the angle Raph hit had knocked the wind out of him. _Maybe_ cracked a rib. Could be worse; ribs heal. He had his life, for whatever that was worth. He was out, either way.

The two men standing weren't Purple Dragons. They were dressed in suits and sunglasses at night, of Asian descent, and carrying discrete, low-caliber pistols with long suppressors screwed to the front. Gang members tended to like it loud and flashy; this was the opposite. A sound like a massive snap pierced the air as one of them fired, followed by two more from the other. Raph loosed a sai from his belt and wrapped it around the gun, wrenching it from the man's grip. He meant to follow up with a kick, but the burning line of pain in his thigh caught up with him, and he buckled forward into a kneel. No time to suffer; he had to act. Raphael threw a punch into the dealer's breadbasket, and followed up with a pair of headbutts. He hit the ground with a bloody nose, and Raphael turned to see Dreadmon had already taken out the man behind him.

"What happened to not bein' seen, Raph?"

"Fucker shot me," he muttered in lieu of answering the question. His hand went to his leg, coming back slick with red. The wound didn't seem deep. He didn't feel like he couldn't make an escape, but he'd be a hell of a lot slower than normal. "They were quick, man. Quicker than we usually deal with. _Prepared_."

"That's… that's not good, yeah?"

"No, it's not. Somethin's up here, somethin' too big for just the two of us. We need to get out."

Raphael picked up his dropped sai and the kunai from earlier. He checked to make sure all three men were still breathing, then limped back toward the lackluster fence. Dreadmon followed, somewhere between doting on him and trying to give him his space. It wasn't a comfortable balance. Less so when the wolf SLAMMED into him, pushing him to the ground behind a rack of car parts with a sudden burst of speed and force.

"What the hell--" A paw pad clapped over his beak and Dreadmon put a finger to his lips, looking back between the mufflers to the way they came. Raphael nodded and shifted into a position to see.

Three more figures had moved to the scene of the fight, examining the area with vested interest. The first Raphael had never seen before. She was average height with dark hair and almond eyes in both shape and color. Her hair was tied back with a bandana not unlike his own, and she was dressed in something between a black gi and modern tactical armor. The man with her was almost half a foot taller, bald with a small, well-trimmed moustache. His eyes and expression were the most grim and stoic Raphael had ever seen, and one he _had_ seen before; his name was Tatsu; The Shredder's former right hand and majordomo. The third was the most shocking of them all.

If Tatsu were one half of the first woman's appearance with his immaculate gi and severe air, the feminine figure to his left was the other half. Outfitted in black, armored fatigues with a red bandana around her neck and some manner of assault rifle gripped in one hand, she scented the air with deep breaths from her muzzle as her fluffy, white tail swished to and fro with a predator's interest. She was a fox, he estimated, and though he might've meant that in the literal sense as there was something _very_ attractive about her poised, dangerous stance, here it was very literal. Two weeks ago, Raphael and his brothers thought they and Splinter were the only mutants in the world. Now he had met Dreadmon and this mysterious fox-woman, and while Dreadmon's path to being a wolf-man was different than his own, he wondered if the same was true for the fox.

The three exchanged words in Japanese; Raphael could recognize the language when he heard it, even if he wasn't fluent. Most of it was still foreign to him, but there was one word he knew by heart; カメ. _Turtle._ The trio started to move in the direction he and Dreadmon were hiding, and that was all it took for the wolf to take charge and hoist the injured ninja over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Instead of the snap-and-he's-gone pace Dreadmon used to snag the package and distract the criminals, he was building momentum at a steady pace, though much quicker than Raphael ever could on his own.

"Close ya eyes, mon."

Raphael did as instructed, the sheer force of the "wind" that was buffetting him threatening to tear the bandana from his head. Even if he had wanted to keep them open, to marvel at the world whizzing by them as Dreadmon tapped into the powers his form had granted him, his own body fought against him, reflexively holding his eyes shut against the battering dust and air. Thinking quickly, Raph reached a hand down to cover his bleeding wound; leaving a trail for them to follow was just as bad as staying put… maybe worse. At some point, Dreadmon began ascending. Raphael's stomach turned somersaults, threatening to refund his last meal in painful fashion, but before that could happen the wolf skidded to a stop, setting Raphael down gently on the rooftop where they had ended up before collapsing himself.

"Thanks for the lift," he eked out, trying to convince his eyes it was safe for them to be open again. An odd film had collected in the corners, and he brushed it out with his clean hand.

"Yeah, let's not make a habit of that, huh?" Dreadmon replied between panting breaths, "It's one thing with a sack of grass or bag of lunch, but a huge man-turtle is a heck of a ting to carry 'round that far."

"I'll try not to." Getting shot in the leg was never high on his 'to-do' list. Even less if it forced someone else to have to taxi him around at mach speed. "Where the hell are we, anyhow?"

"Thai place near Hell's Kitchen. Don't stand up too high; we ain't that far from the ground."

Raph nodded, peering up enough to get his bearings. They weren't that far from home, which was something of a miracle; Brighton was over an hour away if you hitched a ride on a subway car. Dreadmon was _fast_. If he could find entry into the sewers they'd have relative safety. Not to mention he _needed_ to talk to Splinter about Tatsu and the mystery women. First things first; a sewer was no place for an open wound. He removed his mask and tied it off around his leg with a hiss, then a chuckle from the wolf spread-eagle on the roof a few feet from him.

"You look weird without'cha mask."

"Right?" 

Raphael had to laugh at that. sometimes if they hung out around the lair without masks on, they'd start to get each other confused. It didn't matter that they had different physiques, or different features. You got so used to just looking for the mask color that the small stuff was harder to pick up on. Donnie and Mikey switched their bandanas for a whole month once, and nobody noticed. Well, Splinter said _he_ did. But Raphael could remember at least one time where the rat tried to get Michelangelo in a purple mask to help him with the broken timer on the coffee machine.

The pain in his leg was insistent, which was probably a good thing. Numbness meant nerve damage, he was pretty sure, so pain meant everything was in working order. Still, there was no way he was making it back to their home without help, and he had the only phone. Time once again to enact his honored tradition of asking forgiveness instead of permission.

"All right, c'mon. I need to get home, an' I need your help."

"Yeah?" Dreadmon's eyebrows quirked up at Raphael outright asking for aid, but he'd seen the gash on his leg. "So I get to know 'bout the super-secret turtle house?"

"Yup. An' you get to have my back when I catch hell for it."

"Ah, wouldn't have it any other way!"

Raphael found his footing and dropped into the alley below, and the wolf followed. Soon, he was safely back below the city streets, sure he would be getting an earful from Leonardo and Splinter for violating the secrecy of their lair.


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm sorry, Master." 

Splinter only grunted in response. His long-fingered rodent hands flew quickly over the girl's wounds with all the care of a patient nurse. They weren't as critical as Leonardo believed, babbling with panic as he arrived in the lair, fretting over possible infection and half-spilling the story of his encounter in the alley. Still, the cuts and abrasions needed care. Splinter tended to them with antiseptic and gauze, cotton swabs and iodine just the same as he had done for his sons in the past, before they were old enough to tend to themselves and frequently when the pain was just too great.

"She will be fine, Leonardo."

"No, yeah… I… I'm sure," he swallowed to try and calm himself, "Sensei. In your hands…"

"In yours as well, my son. You were right to bring her here."

Leo nodded. "I was worried I'd be spotted. At the hospital."

"Not to mention the logistics of _getting_ her there without being seen. Even if you just dropped her off in the ER parking lot at… at Bellevue. You were already in the sewers. Unless you popped out of the same lid, the next rigged one isn't for miles. We were probably closer." Donatello was in the living room when Leonardo arrived. Now he was in Splinter's bedroom with his brother and the girl, hovering over her with curiosity. He'd never seen a human this close before without being in the middle of a fight with them. Never had a chance to really study them in the flesh, away from the confines of his computer.

"Indeed. It was wise, Leonardo. You did the right thing."

Leonardo couldn't bring himself to do much more than nod. Splinter's eyes closed gently, and the barest sigh of withering patience escaped his lips. He tested the bandage on the girl's forehead one last time, then turned to tend to the other wounded animal in the room. Splinter laid a hand onto his son's shoulder and leaned his muzzle close to the approximate spot of his ear.

" _It was wise_ , Leonardo." His son nodded again. "Do not think I have not planned for the eventuality that one day there may be… an unexpected visitor in our home. Naturally, I had thought it to be the Foot, or Shredder himself. Some manner of… _villain_ looking to do us harm." He paused to choose his words carefully. "An… innocent saved by the compassion and integrity of one of my children is a far more welcome intruder."

"Should I take her to the surface now that she's all patched up, Dad?" Donatello spoke what he felt his brother was thinking, but the truth behind his distracted eyes came with a stiff interruption.

"No!" There was a stillness to the room after Leo's shout. Even Splinter seemed taken aback. "No… they might still be looking for her. The goons… the… the _Foot_."

"You are sure they were of the Foot?"

"Yeah." Leonardo shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "I mean… No. Not a hundred percent. … but they had weapons. Kunai. Kusari-gama. They knew how to use them, and not just for show. They knew how to use them in a _fight_. But they weren't… they weren't _regulation_. They weren't Japanese, so not anything above…" he ran his tongue across his beak. "Not anything above street level. Maybe… maybe higher-ranking members of the Purple Dragons, filling in the holes like they did before Shredder--" He paused again, taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "They were just punks, but they were _skilled_ punks. And… they knew about Shredder… they knew him by _name._ And the girl…" He moved finally, beyond bouncing on the balls of his feet. He still didn't turn his head, but he reached out his arm and pointed to her with one finger. "Her back pocket. Cell phone. She has footage of… _something_. Something they didn't want her to have. It's what they were cornering her for."

Splinter and Donatello both laid eyes upon the girl. The purple-clad turtle seemed a bit beside himself as he asked, "should I… get it out?"

"No," Splinter shook his head. "Her property is her property, and we are not thieves. When she awakens, we can speak with her about what she may have seen or… recorded. Until then--"

Suddenly, Michelangelo cried out from the living room. "Oh, dudes! You are _NOT_ gonna believe this!"

They'd all heard the tone in his voice before; when one of the other brothers had done something punishment-worthy, when some slightly humorous brand of trouble or drama was about to happen, and _especially_ if it involved Raphael. It was a combination of excitement, anxiety, and a little bit of humor. No matter what any of them had expected to see when they walked into the main room of the lair, it wasn't Raphael being helped onto the couch by a six foot wolf man in a sarong. He smiled and waved when he noticed them enter.

"Wagwan, turtles! You must be Raphael's brothers, eh?"

They were all a little too stunned to respond as Dreadmon walked toward them with open arms, like he was greeting old friends after a long absence.

"Let me guess… Leonardo?" He pointed with query, and Leo nodded, still too shaken from the night's events to even bother being upset. "Michelangelo?"

"Guilty as charged, dude."

The fingers he'd pointed toward the orange-banded turtle shaped into a gun and 'fired'. He finally directed his gaze to Donatello, peering at him through the turtle's tape-repaired spectacles. Dreadmon narrowed his eyes and searched. 

"… … Giorgione?" Donnie shook his head. " _Titian?_ "

"Nah… uh… Donatello."

"Tut tut," he turned to the rat emerging between his two sons and clucked his tongue. "You mixed your High Renaissance and Early Renaissance? Tacky, mate."

Michelangelo couldn't _quite_ tell from across the room, but he could've sworn his master smirked just slightly at the joke.

"I am a fan of his interpretation of Mary Magdalene. We all have our favorites," he shrugged his shoulders very softly. "I am called Splinter. I must say… you have me at a disadvantage; you seem to know something of us, whereas I know nothing of you."

"Citizen Jacobs. Me mates call me Dreadmon, but--"

"Hey, y'know… not that I'm not thrilled y'all ain't screamin' at each other an'… Leo ain't doin' his 'I told you so' dance at me, but… I got one hell of a gash here an' somethin' a hell of a lot more important than Dreadmon to talk about right now. No offense, Dread."

"None taken."

Splinter's eyes found Raphael's bleeding injury, and he glided to his son's side with grace, motioning wordlessly for Donatello to collect more medical supplies from the bathroom. He knelt before his son and pulled his leg up gently by the heel, picking at the sticky, slipshod 'bandage'.

"Where were you?" Leo asked, dryly. It was more due his general, proto-shock state since he got home than any conscious effort to keep his tone metered, but in any case Raphael didn't argue; he just answered.

"Cropsey Scrap Yard. Wanted to show Dreadmon the ropes, since he's a _freak_ like us who wants to do good in the world, _like us_ … only we ran into somethin' above an' beyond the usual gangbangers an' drug runners."

Leo's first instinct was to chastise his brother, but he held back for now, given his own infractions against the sanctity of their home and the severity of the situation at hand. Besides, Raphael looked like he'd seen a ghost. Leonardo had more questions, but words weren't coming as easily as they usually did tonight.

"Oh, yeah… speakin' of which…" Dreadmon produced the torn package from the small of his back and held it toward… well, anyone who would take it. "This ain't cocaine, mate. Not any heroin I ever heard of, neither. It's… _green_."

"Place it on the table please, Citizen. It is likely very dangerous," Splinter said between gingerly removing the blood-soaked bandana from his son's leg. "We will deal with it in time." 

Dreadmon did as he was told, Donatello breezing past him with the medkit. He backed away to stand near Leonardo, looking generally uncomfortable between the company, Raphael's wounds, and the strange air this entire evening had. Splinter sterilized some tweezers in alcohol, then began pulling dirt and fibers from the wound with cautious speed. Raphael hissed in pain, but didn't protest and tried to keep his leg as still as possible by bracing himself against the couch. Leonardo swallowed, his mouth still so dry. Thoughts were connecting in his head, and he felt like he somehow already knew what his brother had seen… but he needed to hear it from Raphael himself.

"So… what happened?"

"Well, it weren't no Purple Dragons, that's for damn sure. High-class suits. Expensive guns with… _suppressors!_ " He winced, gritting his teeth. "But that ain't all… this guy Tatsu… big bald guy, used to be Shredder's right hand… I found out about him when I went in solo before you guys came in an' saved my shell. _He_ was there. An' this woman, she was in… _charge!_ " Raph paused to catch his breath as Splinter gently massaged the surrounding muscle to calm the pain.

"You have some fragments in your leg, Raphael. I don't know if they are from the bullet or something else. It will be very painful when I remove them."

"Yeah, well…" he nodded and caught his master's eyes, an understanding passing between them. "What's the life of a ninja without a little pain, huh? Price o' pride."

Splinter removed the first fragment with his son's blessing, as quick as you might pluck a pretty flower from its bed. Raphael ground his beak and gritted his teeth, trying his hardest not to scream loud enough for all of Manhattan to hear. All things considered, he did a pretty good job, but the agony in his voice was raw enough to cause Michelangelo and Dreadmon to grimace along with him.

"An ally of Shredder's. A bald man. Some… woman. Elite-level goons." Leonardo swallowed again. It wasn't anger that was forcing him to even his tone without thinking; it something deeper and more raw. His eyes flitted to the package on the table, but he tried to focus on his brother bleeding on the couch. "Anything else, Raph?"

"Yeah. _Another_ freak," Raphael finally turned and met his brother's stare. "A _fox._ White fur. Machine gun. Good sense of smell."

His thought was finished, which was a good thing since another fragment came free from his leg and he grunted and groaned in anguish.

"Seems like there's a lot more of us running around than I thought," Leo muttered.

"Yeah, well… ya learn somethin' new every day, right?" 

Raph grimaced, but the final fragment was less painful somehow. Splinter cleaned the wound once more and bandaged it with gauze and tape. He patted his son gently on the opposite knee; a combination of reassurance, a warning to stay off it, and a little aid for himself to help him rise to his feet. He silently left the room with the first aid kit. The four were left alone with Dreadmon, who crossed his arms before his chest and leaned against the kitchen counter. Silence pressed among them, finally broken by Michelangelo's best attempt at humor given the mood of the room.

"Oh, so, I dunno if I forgot to tell you guys in all the excitement about the free pie earlier, but Raphael doesn't have a girlfriend; turns out he's got a were-wolf buddy." He turned to Raph with mock apology. "Keeping secrets is _hard_."

Raphael managed a single laugh through the pain, but Dreadmon was less amused.

"I'm not a were-wolf. Were-wolves get to turn back. This is me." He gestured with wide arms to his furry, long-limbed visage.

"How do you get around? Without people noticing you," Leonardo queried.

"Super-speed. Voodoo curse. I don't pretend to understand it exactly meself. S'why Raphael an' I were out in the scrapyard bustin' goons. Hopin' payin' penance for me past misdeeds might set me on the path to bein' human again."

"Aw, like Beauty and the Beast!" Mikey chirped up. "Do you got a magic rose, or… like… ganja leaf under glass somewhere?"

"Michelangelo," Splinter warned, but with less force than usual. Perhaps because the concept of being rude to a guest was something they hadn't really covered before, guests in and of themselves being so unprecedented in their lives. Perhaps it was Splinter's own weariness. He paced to Dreadmon. "You are welcome to stay, Citizen Jacobs, so long as you continue to mean us no harm. I would ask, however, that you not lead anyone else to our home, nor tell of its location. Ours is a secret existence for grave reasons."

"Yeah, with the science lab an' ting? Keep Babylon from pokin' round in your skull?"

"That, yes, as well as enemies we have long held. Enemies who do not seem to be as firmly defeated as we once believed."

Splinter turned to look at Leonardo; while Raphael had shared his tale of fragments of the Foot still standing, one brother was still in the dark on what Leo had experienced. Unfortunately, before he could talk Donatello felt the misdirected weight of his sensei's gaze and sheepishly stepped forward, rubbing the back of his head.

"I thought they'd go into hiding, or… disperse! I really did. But I had no way of knowing about this woman, or… Shredder's right hand."

"Slipped my mind." It wasn't accusatory, but Raph felt it better to own up to his mistakes for now. Either the pain or its absence was bringing an unusual degree of clarity.

"Sure, I didn't mean it like that… and if they're drawing from the Purple Dragons for more street-level activities--"

"Wait, wait, wait… I told you I didn't see no Purple Dragons," Raph said, waving his hand to dispel the idea. "These guys were bigger. More important, I mean. Real high-class goons. Nothin' like those street punks with… baseball bats and bad attitudes."

"No, he means me," Leonardo finally admitted. "I went out tonight as well… and you were right, Donnie, the streets were pretty quiet. Except I ran into some… _non-standard_ Foot soldiers… all the training and knowledge a Foot soldier would have… about The Shredder. About _us_ … but they looked like ordinary New York street trash."

"Yeah, the ones I ran into knew about us, too. My Japanese ain't so great, but I know the word 'turtle'. You really think whatever's left of the Foot would bump ordinary thugs like that up the chain of command so fast? It's only been, what, a week?"

"Yeah… it's hard to say," Leo admitted," that might not even be exactly what's going on. They _could_ have been Purple Dragons… could've been something else."

"I would wager that it is a threat far more dangerous than even The Shredder himself," Splinter announced. His palm was placed firmly on the torn package. "It appears as though both old foes and new have risen together, and though their aims are not yet clear, there is much we can estimate from what is contained in this parcel. There is… also much I have not told you… details that did not seem so important until tonight. Details about… how you came to be what you are."

The weight of the rat's words hang heavy in the air, something not even Michelangelo cut with a joke. But one voice spoke up before Splinter could continue; shaky, but firm. Clear. Feminine. Leo and Donnie turned to see where it was coming from, and in doing so revealed the voice's owner to the whole lair.

"I'm… super glad we're going to be explaining that, 'cuz I know my head is killing me and I've got this nifty bandage? But I see four human-sized turtles, a rat-man and a wolf-man having a conversation in front of me… _and I don't think that's how hallucinations work._ "

The girl was awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one was a little clumsy. I wanted to write. I was tired of putting it off. Lemme know if you enjoyed!


End file.
